Stranger in a Strange Land
by Morning-Tide
Summary: Twenty years after the liberation of the slaves, Moses and Tzipporah have two sons, one of whom will journey to Egypt with Moses: Gershom. God has revealed that Rameses is still alive, and that Moses and Gershom should journey to Egypt to meet with Pharaoh. Along the way, Moses tells Gershom about the history of Passover and his life. Gershom finds more questions than answers.
1. Chapter 1: Gershom

_[A/N: This is set well after the events at the end of "Prince of Egypt", twenty years later. The main character, Gershom, is the first-born son of Tzipporah and Moses, and will be the main narrator for most of the story. His brother is Elizer (Moses in the Bible had two sons, so took it from there). Much as I'd LOVE to own PoE, I do not, and the characters belong to Dreamworks (and the Bible), not me.]  
_

**Chapter One**

_Gershom_

My name means "I was a stranger in a strange land". But it isn't me who is a stranger here in my home out in the desert's wilderness. My father—Moses—had named me _Gershom_, for he had been a foreigner in a foreign land. I am the first-born of his two children; his other child is also a son, Elizer. Elizer is younger by two years, and he is not as fascinated as I am by our father's distant history. I wanted to know why father looked so mournful during the annual Passover, and why he would always slip away afterward for a short while. Certainly, it was a sombre time, but only he would slip away and not return until we began clearing away the feast. The first time I had tried to follow him—I was only five then—mother had gently stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

"One day you will understand," she had whispered into my ear, "He will tell you when he is ready."

I could not get any more out of my mother, Tzipporah, and it was many years before I would finally learn why. It did not make it any less frustrating for a curious child such as I who wanted to know everything. Elizer, on the other hand, wasn't as curious, and didn't appear to be as mystified by father's sadness at Passover. 

One day, us two brothers were idling in a corner of our cavernous tent, shading ourselves from the merciless heat of the desert. It was still only the morning after Passover—my eighteenth Passover—and our conversation soon turned to our father's sorrow during the annual remembrance and feast.

"Everyone is sad on Passover," Elizer reasoned dryly, "after all we remember the first born who died on the night God delivered us out of Egypt."

"Father always stays out for a long time."

"It has been long ago enough for him to get over the death of the first born. They were only Egyptians."

I gaped at Elizer, speechless with shock. I couldn't think of anything to say except his name.

"_Elizer!_"

But my shocked voice wasn't the only one reproaching him. Mother had wandered in, her arms folded over her chest, her eyes reproachful. She strode over to Elizer and sat down near us.

"Elizer, what I have heard from you has shocked me!" Tzipporah scolded, "You do not understand what your father has been through!"

Elizer scowled, "It's been a long time ago, mother. How long ago now? Thirteen years?"

"Twenty," mother corrected, voice still stern, "but that does not give you the right to tell him to 'get over it'. Do not _think_ to tell him so to his face. Your own father."

"Then _why_ is he still grieving?" I asked before my brother could say anything worse.

Tzipporah inhaled long through her nose, her eyes staring into mine before shifting to Elizer's. She kept her face carefully neutral in expression, her voice level when she spoke again.

"It is complicated," she said at last, revealing nothing. "You will learn."

"We're old enough to learn, are we not?" I asked, "I am eighteen!"

"I am aware you are eighteen," she conceded.

"Then why are we not told?" I stood up, craning my neck to look outside the tent for father. "Can he not tell us now?"

Mother stood up, joining me at the tent entrance. She moved to touch my shoulder, but I moved away. I didn't want reassurances and pats on the shoulder.

"Mother, I am no longer a child," I argued, "I want to know. I've always wanted to know."

I squinted into the white heat, trying to make out father's unmistakeable silhouette, as he always carried around his staff. Mother was noticeably quiet; I didn't want to look at her face. She would probably be pitying me for my impatience and yearning to know of father's experience of the first Passover meal. Her blue skirts swished over her feet as she stepped out of the tent.

"Come with me. We shall look for Moses."

Was I to find out at last, or would father be as stubborn in not revealing the beginning of Passover's history?

I knew we would discover father in the midst of a sizeable crowd—if he wasn't with his family or alone with God, he would be in the centre of a mass of people. This morning, he and his brother, Aaron, were conversing with a number of other elders with a lot of gesticulating and waving of hands above their heads. Tzipporah cleared her throat gently, attracting the attention of a few Hebrews on the crowd's fringe.

"It's Tzipporah," a lady in a green dress nudged her neighbour.

The crowd swiftly cleared a path for us to walk straight to Moses. Though the occasional pair of eyes watched us with curiosity, most heads craned in the direction of the two men, eyes gazing with deep respect at their deliverer and his brother. As soon as there was a gap in the conversation, Tzipporah spoke to her husband.

"Moses," she said in a low volume, "our son, Gershom, wishes to know about the Passover. I will speak of Elizer a later time."

I had the feeling Elizer was about to get a stern lecture from father tonight. No matter what others thought of the Egyptians, Moses always made it clear that not all the Egyptians were guilty or blind to others' suffering. The two Egyptian guards who had abandoned their homeland and joined the Hebrews were proof enough. How Egypt herself fared, I shuddered to imagine.

Moses dug his staff into the sand, locking eye contact with me, his expression calm. He ran his fingers over his beard in the way he did when mulling over a decision.

"Very well, Gershom," he conceded, "but understand, it will have to wait until this evening."

I couldn't help a grin, "You mean you're going to tell me?"

"Don't be too excited," he warned, dark eyes solemn, "it is not a story full of happiness."

I didn't care—father was to tell me about Passover's first night, something I had wanted to learn about for most of my lifetime now. I couldn't wait until the evening drenched the desert in a river of gold as the sun melted under the horizon.


	2. Chapter 2: Moses

_(A/N: This chapter is told from Moses' point of view; however, it will return to Gershom for the next several chapters)  
_

**Chapter Two**

_Moses_

I had to tell him sooner or later. For years, Gershom had begged me to spill my story of the original Passover and the plagues that had struck Egypt. I knew his excitement sprouted out of his childhood innocence, but I couldn't bring myself to tell him, but instead always waited for the perfect year. But when was the perfect year? How old should my child be before he was ready to learn the human side of the story? When could I tell him the story of two brothers who became bitter foes? How could he imagine the horror of being forced to watch his own childhood hometown torn to the ground without mercy? How could I tell him about the nightmarish plagues that blighted Egypt, and have him still sleep through the night without unpleasant dreams?

My thoughts sagged with self-debate as I strolled with deliberate slowness toward my tent in the gathering evening.

_He has to know sooner or later, _I told myself, _he has pestered me for about five years now. He is a curious young man now, no longer a little child! _

Twenty Passovers later, I still slipped out after the feast to be alone with my thoughts, away from the chants and songs of the multitude. Alone, away from other people, I would remember Egypt as it had been before the plagues, and murmur prayers for the unfortunate innocents caught in the midst of the scourge. I prayed for the first-borns snatched by God, and most especially for Rameses' first-born. Rameses himself…I was convinced he had perished along with the soldiers in the Red Sea. No one could have survived that.

_Twenty Passovers, _I mused, _and yet I still mourn every year. Mourn the lost lives, my old homeland, and the loss of a beloved brother, who became my bitterest enemy. _

Now dead, all because of his stubbornness and pride.

Without truly noticing it, I found myself in front of the tent flap. Just as I began reaching a hand out to open the flap, God's voice whispered in my ear.

"Moses…Moses…"

"Here I am." I whispered.

"You seek to tell your son of the first Passover."

"Yes."

"Come away from the tent, for I must speak with you."

Letting the rough material of the flap fall from my fingers, I strode to one of the isolated sites where I could speak to God alone without any distractions or interruptions.

"What do you need to speak to me about?" I asked, settling down on the wooden stool.

"Of Egypt."

I sat speechless for several seconds before managing a stunned "What?"

"Egypt, the land you mourn."

I bit my lip, looking down at my hands limp in my lap. "It is no longer."

"Egypt thrives, despite the plagues I sent upon the land and her citizens. Pharaoh lives."

I snapped my head up, staring straight ahead in disbelief. By "pharaoh", he meant…no, he had to have drowned with his soldiers.

"I do mean the pharaoh you called brother."

My thoughts were a blur, my stomach tight with suppressed emotions—shock, grief, terror, and even the tiniest glimmer of relief. My brother lived—but as my enemy, I was certain.

"He would kill me if he saw me again," I told God in an even tone, "I am no longer his brother. I don't know how he survived. How?"

The presence of God shifted around my shoulders. "I carried him back to shore, for I knew he would learn from his mistakes, and restore Egypt."

I stood up, thumping my stick into the ground. Shaking my head in disbelief, I spoke to God's smoky, almost invisible presence.

"No, Egypt was destroyed!" I protested, "How could anyone return her to full strength?"

"Pharaoh, once he knew I am to be feared in his land," God explained, "He has done much to restore your childhood land."

I raised a hand to my head, feeling light-headed with shock.

"No, it can't be," I said again.

"Do you dare disbelief I, your Lord?" God demanded, "Do you say I would speak a lie?"

I sunk down on the stool, unspeaking and humbled.

"I believe you," I said after a time.

"All is well, faithful Moses, my servant," God praised, "I know your son wishes to know of the first Passover, and how Egypt was smote by my wonders. I know also that Gershom will want to see Egypt…with you."

"W-what?" I stammered, "Why? It's far away. I can't walk that distance!"

"My presence will give you strength and endurance, much more so than a man your age who does not know I, the Lord." God persisted.

"But what have I got to do in Egypt?" I asked, "Has Pharaoh enslaved other people again?"

"I do not ask you to liberate, but to reunite so you can come into my kingdom unburdened by the past."

I took a deep, shaky breath. So much to take in in such little time—and my mind wasn't a sharp, twenty-something anymore. At sixty-five, my mind and body had begun to slow down in ways that had me at times envying my ephemeral, distant youth for his high-spirited energy. But…God was asking the impossible of me.

"It would be dangerous," I reasoned, "I know Pharaoh had wanted to kill all the Hebrews, including…"

I couldn't finish the sentence. My heart still flinched at knowing my closest friend in childhood wanted me dead. And Egypt did not provide quick, painless deaths. For the worst of crimes, there was drowning in the Nile, burning to death, or impaling on a wooden spike. Criminals sometimes took three days to die on the spike. Little wonder most criminals chose to commit suicide instead.

"There will be hardships," God agreed, "but you will know what to do. Gershom shall speak to Pharaoh Rameses."

I blinked, taken aback that God had spoken Rameses' name. I had shielded my heart from his name to avoid the cherished memories, now tainted with bittersweet remembrance. To remember him as "pharaoh" guarded my heart as a soldier's shield does his body. But why would Gershom speak to pharaoh? I waited for God to explain, but instead he changed the topic.

"When you have spoken to Gershom, take him with you to Egypt, for he shall want to see your past. You will leave Elizer home with your wife, for he deems the Egyptians as below him. Now return to your tent, where your first-born son awaits with impatience."

With that, God's presence wisped away. A heavy silence, broken only by distant birdcalls, fell over me. Stunned with the news, I leant my elbows on my knees, cradling my head in trembling fingers.

For twenty full years, I had mourned Egypt and for Pharaoh…Rameses…never knowing that he had been alive all along. Something deep in me whispered that all of that was about to change, and soon.


	3. Chapter 3: Gershom

_[A/N: this chapter and the next few will be from Gershom's POV]_

**Chapter Three**

_Gershom_

I knew something had happened when I saw father enter our tent, face pale with shock. Mother rushed to him, her arms coiling around his waist.

"What's happened?" she queried, forehead creased with worry.

Father shook his head, his expression rather bewildered, "It's…it's something big."

Mother unlatched her arms from around her husband, whispering something I couldn't catch into his ear. Moses' mouth curved into a deep frown, and his eyebrows dove in clear anger.

"I'll talk to him later too," father said, clearly affronted, "Elizer shall know I will not take his words lightly."

Behind me warbled discontented mumbles from my brother sprawled out on his mattress.

"Enough of that," Mother warned him, "Your father will have words with you once he has spoken with you and your brother."

I found a couple of spare cushions to sit on in a quiet corner of the tent. Here, I would soon hear about father's past and the first Passover. Not while my brother dismissed the Egyptians as below us, he would not learn.

"Tzipporah," father continued, "I think you should hear this too."

Looking concerned about what he might have to say, she came over and made herself comfortable next to us. Moses settled down on a cushion of his own, staring at his steepled fingers, deep in thought. A deep line formed between his grey eyebrows.

"Aren't you going to tell me?" I asked, only for mother to hold up a hand in my direction.

"Let him take his time, Gershom," she said, "you should not rush your father."

At last, Moses raised his head, his dark eyes troubled.

"My sons, Tzipporah, I have spoken with God just before coming here."

Mother laid her hand on his arm, "does this have anything to do with Passover?"

Father hesitated, "yes…and no. I may as well say it now—just don't be too shocked."

I prepared to be shocked. I learned that if anyone said "don't be too whatever, but…", then be prepared to be amazed, shocked, excited, furious…

"God has called me to endure one more journey."

"A journey?" Elizer piped up. "Where?"

Father inhaled deeply, his eyes flickering from one face to the next. "He has called me not to liberate this time, but to…"

Mother took his hand, "you can tell us, Moses."

Now he locked eyes with me, his face a picture of solemnity, "I will tell you about Passover on the way."

"On the way _where?_" Elizer demanded.

"God knows you wish to know about Passover, my son," Father addressed me, "and he knows you want to see Egypt."

Mother gasped; my brother and I gaped.

"You…God asked you to go _back?_" mother cried, sounding almost outraged, "He cannot ask this of you! You are too old for such a journey, Moses!"

"He has assured me he will give me enough strength for a journey as this," father soothed, "I believe him."

Mother crossed her arms over her chest, eyes flashing, "No, Moses, tell him you cannot. It was one thing going from Midian to Egypt by camel…"

"Then why can't we go by camel?" I blurted.

"Shh!" mother hushed.

Father held up a hand, "Gershom is right. We aren't going to _walk_ all the way there."

"It's a month's journey away." mother protested, dismayed. "What does he want you in Egypt for if not to liberate?"

Father tightened his lips the way he did when trying to think of a way to state what was on his mind.

"God has informed me that Pharaoh Rameses is still alive."

"_What?_" three voices cried in disbelief, our eyes staring at father like he'd gone mad.

"It is true," father said, clearly bemused by the news as well, "and that is not all. God has informed me pharaoh has also restored Egypt."

"That's impossible," mother choked, "it was burnt to the ground."

"Stone does not burn easily," father pointed out wryly, "although statues may crumble."

"But what does he want you to do with Egypt?" I asked, "Why tell you Pharaoh's still alive?"

"You can't go to Egypt," mother protested, "he wanted us all dead."

"I know," father agreed, "I will not forget that."

"Then don't go to Egypt," Elizer spoke up at last, "They are beneath you! Us!"

"Elizer," father turned his head, eyes stern, "It is not right to talk that way."

Elizer shook his head, "they all wanted us dead. Why care at all?"

A deep sigh from our father, as he gazed at a spot above our heads. "Because it was my home," he said in a soft volume.

"Who cares anymore?"

"Elizer!" father chided, his voice growing impatient, "Enough is enough. If you want to tell the guards who joined us in the exodus from Egypt that they are beneath you, then you are more than welcome. Be warned: they will not take it lightly."

Elizer looked like he would jump up right then and tell the guards exactly that. Yet, he stayed planted right where he was, albeit with an unhappy look on his face. Maybe he wanted to hear more of what father wanted to say.

"Moses," mother spoke up, "did God tell you that anything terrible would happen? Will you survive?"

"Exactly, mother," Elizer muttered.

"Elizer," I hissed, "will you stop it?"

"Oh so you're against me too?" Elizer snapped, "Call yourself brother."

"Elizer!" father snapped, "do not talk to Gershom like that!"

"Sorry," Elizer mumbled—whether to father or to me, it wasn't clear.

Father exhaled deeply as he ran a hand through his thick, curly mop of once-brown hair.

"God has told me there will be hardships," he admitted, "but he has implied we—Gershom and I—will survive. However," here he glanced at me, "he has said it will be Gershom who will speak to pharaoh first."

Elizer and I stared at each other.

"What?" I managed, "who am I to talk to Pharaoh? Why should I speak with him?"

"God has not said why, but that we will find out and understand."

"How?"

"God will show you," father assured in full conviction, "I trust Him with all my heart."

"I hardly know Egyptian," I protested.

"You'll be fine, Gershom. Do not forget your lessons."

He had a point. When I was much younger, I wanted to know the language of the Egyptians, and father was all too willing to teach me the Egyptian language as well as Hebrew.

Mother looked deeply unhappy, but even she knew that once her husband had a task given by God, there was nothing she could do to stop him.

"You still have not told us why he wants you there, if not to liberate," mother said.

Father reached out and took her hand in his. "God wants me to unburden the past."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Elizer demanded.

"He said one word: reunite."

Mother raised an eyebrow, looking sceptical, "Reunite? What, with pharaoh? Do you not remember how he wanted us—_you_—killed?"

"It seems God knows more than I do," father said, looking mystified himself, "and you know, as much as I do, Tzipporah, that when God calls me—"

"You must go," mother finished his sentence, standing up. "I guess I'll get the camel ready."

With that, she strode out of the tent, obviously not at all pleased at the news. As a matter of fact, nor was I, and judging by my brother's dark expression, nor was he.

"She'll come around," father assured us, "she always does."

I breathed deeply. With the shock of the news still ringing in my ears, the excitement of at last hearing about the first Passover had worn off somewhat.

_What will Egypt be like? _I wondered over and over. _What will I see? What will happen? And what will father and Egypt tell me of the Passover?_

I realised father was staring at me, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

"I know you're thinking about the Passover," he guessed.

I nodded—there was no use hiding anything from him.

"Understand that there will be plenty of time to hear about it when we have our journey," father told me.

"How long will the journey to Egypt take?"

Father touched his beard in the way he did when trying to figure out something in his head.

"Possibly a full moon cycle by camel," he estimated, "and we will depart within two mornings. I will ask Aaron to take care of things while we are gone. Elizer, I am sorry, but God has said you are to stay here."

"Fine with me," he shrugged, trying to sound uninterested, but he didn't look at father.

"You sure?"

"Yes, my brother can go with you," Elizer said, waving a hand in an attempt to show dismissiveness, "he wants to go to Egypt, not me. I won't miss anything."

I knew better—I hadn't been Elizer's brother for sixteen years for nothing. I could tell by the way he looked at me, and in his tone of voice, that he too wanted to go. Now he would stay with mother while father and I went off to Egypt on God's mission.

"I'll tell you all about Egypt when I come back," I promised Elizer, "we'll come back, you'll see."

"You better hold up to that promise," Elizer retorted, "because if you don't, I'm dropping you in a well."

I laughed, despite myself. "Not if I drop you in first, Elizer."

_I'll tell him everything, _I promised myself, _he is my brother after all, even if he does think the Egyptians below him. He'll see they're better than he thinks they are. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

As father promised, in two sunrises, we were riding our camel out of the encampment in the desert, toward Egypt. The camel's back was covered by a blanket, and hanging over the flanks of the animal were flasks of water and bags of food. It was a tearful farewell for mother and father, but I knew it had to be done. When God said he had a task for father to complete, it had to be done. As father had freed the Hebrews from Egypt, so he would return to Egypt to show me what was once his home.

Wide-eyed children stared up at the camel and its riders as we passed the watching multitudes. People waved us farewell as they crowded in front of the hundred-fold tents housing our people. I saw curious faces peeking out from behind tent flaps and people straightening up from chores to shade their eyes as the camel walked by. Many invocations and prayers soared above our heads, sailing up into God's ears. He would look after us, I was totally confident. There was no need to worry, for we had Him on our side. He would always be there for us—and should the Egyptians hurt us, he would defend us like a soldier loyal to his king.

"Farewell!" people cried, "God protect you, Moses! God protect you, Gershom!"

_Protect us, O Lord, _I prayed, _Protect the Hebrew's saviour and his son. _

The shouting coagulated to a spot behind us as the camel left the camp, father guiding it by the reins every step of the way. I didn't look back, and nor did father. We didn't want to be tempted into returning should we see unhappy faces behind us, or women already in mourning as though we had already died. God had given father and me a journey, and we would take it without a backward glance.

"You know, father," I admitted, "I'll miss home."

"Of course you will," he conceded, "but we are on a journey, and God will be with us. Gershom, do not worry when you are with me."

"Are you sure you know the way still?"

"I am old, but my memory is just as bright."

"There's a lot of desert out there."

He glanced back over his shoulder, a twinkle in his eye, "Egypt _is_ desert, except for the Nile valley."

"How will we know when we've reached Egypt?" I asked, "How will you recognise it if it had been destroyed?"

"Remember what I told Tzipporah about stone? Stone does not burn—it can crumble, but it does not burn," father explained, "the palace has not fallen."

"How will you pass through the Red Sea again? Can this camel swim?"

Father patted the camel on the head. "Not much of a swimmer, are you, camel?"

The camel grunted its answer, spitting a glob on the sand.

"No, we will go another way." father said.

"Will it take us far out of the way from where you lived?"

"It will," father admitted, "but it will not be far once we are in the Nile valley."

"Can this camel go faster?"

"You _want _to go faster?" father's voice had an odd, almost mischievous tone to it.

"Well, it'll get there faster," I pointed out.

"You asked for it. Hold on!" father flexed the reins, "Hut hut! Fast as you can, camel!"

I grabbed onto father as the camel broke into a full out sprint, its feet disturbing mini dust-storms in the sand beneath us. There were no buildings or trees to give a sense of how fast we really were going, but nevertheless the wind felt cool on my face, and my robe billowed behind me as we raced through the desert. I felt myself sliding to one side, like I'd fall off, but held on tighter as father goaded the camel onwards, his hair flying in the wind.

"Fast enough for you?" father shouted back at me, his voice pure glee.

"I don't know!" I shouted back, "I think I might be falling off!"

Father brought the camel to a halt, nudging it gently into a slow walk. My hair felt like it was all knotted on my scalp. I readjusted my seat, still buzzing with exhilaration.

"That…was…"

"Energising?" father suggested, a goofy grin on his face as he looked back at me, "Exhilarating?"

"Both," I gasped, running a hand through my now mussed-up hair. "Is racing a camel the same as a chariot?"

"Oh, _very_ different—and very dangerous."

I glanced down at the ground—it was a long way up from the camel's feet.

"We're a long way up ourselves."

"Chariots are closer to the ground, but one wrong move and you're dead—or in a _lot_ of pain."

"What can happen?"

"If you fall out the back, who knows what you'll land on," father said, "I'm lucky I didn't cause myself a fatal injury when I destroyed the Temple of Ra during a chariot race."

"What else can happen if you're around other chariots and you fall?"

"Get run over by another chariot, or stampeded by spooked horses," father explained, "but when you're young, you don't think of the risks."

"I do," I argued, "and I'm young."

"Then you're a lot smarter than I was at your age," father said.

We rode the camel in silence for a long time, father gently goading the animal into a strong gallop, but not as fast as we had gone before. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine myself on a chariot, like the kind father had raced once. The camel groaned and mumbled to itself, copious dribble slobbering from its mouth, which rather ruined the image for me.

"Come on, we got a wee way to go before we rest," father coaxed the animal, "it's almost sundown."

"It is?"

I raised my eyes to search for the sun; sure enough, it was low on the horizon, its circumference barely touching the line between sand and sky.

"Where will we camp out?"

"Wherever we stop—there's going to be lots of desert for a long time," father answered, "but not to worry. Tzipporah made sure we had plenty of supplies."

Now I was aware of the clinking of water vessels and the thump of bags holding our food supplies. I could only hope that we did not run out before we arrived in the land of Egypt. But if father could survive walking through a desert when he had exiled Egypt, and _then_ survive being buried by a dust-storm, I was sure we could endure just fine.

As the sun sunk with alarming rapidity below the sand, father made the camel stop and kneel for us to get off. We didn't speak very much as we unloaded the animal and put up our small tent for the night. I hoped we wouldn't attract any scorpions or venomous snakes out here. I didn't fancy waking up to see a scorpion or snake snuggling up next to me. When the tent was up, our food and drink laid out, and the camel tied to a post, dark had already fallen. Father had lit a small lamp, placing it between us, so our tent was illuminated by the comforting glow. It reminded me of the home we had left behind. Much as I was excited to be journeying, I felt a twinge of homesickness as I dug into the food and sipped the water for our meal.

"Gershom," father began, "I think it is time I began to tell you about Passover."

I almost choked on my bread. "You're going to tell me now?"

He smiled, "we're journeying to Egypt, so I may as well."

I sat up straight, eager to hear what father had to say.

"Be warned," he began, "as I told you before, it is not a tale of adventure and excitement—but of brothers forced to be enemies."

I couldn't think of what to say—it was the last thing I expected to hear. Oh I knew that he and Pharaoh Rameses had been brought up as adopted brothers during their childhood, but still, father's words took me by surprise.

"Forced to be enemies?" I echoed.

"You see, God had a duty for me to do, and do it I would. All that time I was in Midian, I had believed Pharaoh Seti—Rameses' father—to still reign Egypt."

"Wasn't he already old when you left?"

"Who, Seti? Yes, but it was still a shock to see it was Rameses on the throne, and not Seti."

"Did God not tell you it was Rameses?"

"No, he had not, but I suspect he knew that if he told me, I would have been much more reluctant to go."

"Don't blame you," I agreed, trying not to imagine being forced to be enemies with Elizer. That was the last thing—

"To be his foe was the last thing I wanted," father revealed, "believe me, it was not easy to tell him why I had returned, and to return the last of Egypt I had with me to him."

I tilted my head, puzzled by his last words.

"A long time ago, when he became Prince Regent, he proclaimed me as Royal Chief Architect, and gave me his blue scarab ring to cement that role," father explained, "and even when I threw away what I had of Egypt in the desert near Midian, I did not throw away his ring. I may not have cared much for my adopted father anymore, but I did still care for Rameses, whom I called brother."

"You returned it to him when you went back?"

Father shifted around and stretched out his legs. "I had to tell him I did not return to be at the palace, but to liberate the slaves. Returning his ring was my way to say I did not return to Egypt, but to my people. He was not happy, and doubled the work for my people."

"So he became cruel," I finished, "he showed his true colours."

Father grimaced, "he was stubborn and proud, but I think I know why. Remember what I told you of the time we destroyed that Temple of Ra? That was the day Seti had accused Rameses of being the weak link that would bring down his dynasty. I know Rameses had made it known he would not be the weak link the day I told him I came to free the Hebrews."

I blinked, aghast. What sort of father said that to his son? "Surely not!"

"I didn't believe it at first," father admitted, "but I think that stayed with him the rest of his life—and I would not be surprised if it still bothered him now."

"If he's still alive when we get there."

"I think God intends us to meet him."

"Meet him?" I repeated, "but if Rameses wants us dead…"

"God would not deliberately put us into danger," father interrupted, "I have faith in Him that he would never do this."

I decided not to argue; father's faith was surely stronger than mine ever was or would be. Father continued his story, beginning from the moment he had discovered he wasn't who he thought he was. It had all been a lie—his mother and father weren't his true parents, and Rameses wasn't his true brother. All were lies. Father's voice grew righteously angry as he recounted discovering the painting of the slain babies under Seti's command, and how Seti had dismissed them as just slaves. And finally, the ultimate crime: accidentally killing a man whipping an old Hebrew man to death.

"Rameses wanted to wipe the crime, prove me innocent," father recalled, "but I refused. I could not live a lie, even if he had the best of intentions. I could not live knowing I was pretending to never have killed that Egyptian guard. I never meant to kill, only to stop him killing the Hebrew man. That's when I ran away to Midian."

"And you survived the desert and the dust storms," I marvelled.

"I didn't expect to survive the desert," father admitted, "but survive I did, and Midian is where I met Tzipporah."

"I know."

"And she dropped me in a well," father laughed, "I got to admit, I was asking for it, considering how I'd treated her when she had been brought to the palace to be a…concubine for Rameses. She wasn't having any of it, your mother. Let's say that no one messes with Tzipporah."

Seeing the lamp burning low, father quickly blew it out, lest it ran out of oil on us. We still had many nights of journeying before us. I settled under my own blankets, trying not to notice the chill creeping into my clothes. I could hear father settling down on the other side of the tent, readying himself for sleep.

"Did you tell Rameses?" I asked.

"Tell him what?"

"Before you ran away, did you tell him you were a Hebrew?"

Father was silent a moment. "No," he said, "all I told him was to ask the man I once called father."

"And did he?"

"He must have," father said, "for he knew I was one of the Hebrews when I returned."

"Did he mind knowing you were Hebrew?"

"As a matter of fact, he was only happy to see me—he'd believed me dead all that time."

I didn't have to think hard to imagine: father had run away into the desert with just the clothes on his back and nothing else. If Elizer did the same—God forbid—I would believe him dead too.

"And you told him about your mission?"

"Right away," father said, "I wasted no time in telling Rameses I wasn't there to be a prince, but to be a liberator. I wanted nothing more to do with the palace and with Egypt—and returning his ring was my way of telling him that I was not there to be at the palace, but to be with my people. Don't get me wrong, Gershom, I still thought him brother, but God had given me an important task I could never ignore. He was not happy, but such was the price."

"The price for what?"

"For placing God above anyone else."

"Even your own adopted brother? Even mother?"

"Yes, even your mother," father admitted in a calm volume.

"Would you put him even above me?" I asked, fearing the answer.

A long pause. Thinking he had fallen asleep, I turned over, facing the gently rippling tent wall.

"No," I heard father say at last, "I will not let it happen again."

"Again?"

"You will know tomorrow. Sleep, as we have another long day ahead of us. Goodnight, Gershom."

_Let what happen? _I kept asking, _Could he be talking about the plagues? Or is he talking about the slain Hebrew babies?_

I couldn't think anymore, my eyelids were drooping, and the faint images of dreams were starting to paint themselves across my slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

_[A/N]: I will be going away on holiday for at least three weeks, so will probably not be adding to this until at least December. Thank you for your patience!  
_

**Chapter Five**

I heard more of father's story by camel-back the next day. We trotted along at a steady pace, but did not make the camel go any faster than it had to, especially when laden with two riders and supplies. Father's stick lay in between us, held steady in my hands. He needed it more and more when getting around, but on the camel, he did not need it.

"Last night, you said you would not let something happen again." I reminded him, "what was it?"

Father stared at the reins in his hands. "It was a terrible thing that tenth plague—all the innocent first born—all the Hebrew babies survived, but not the Egyptians."

"God sought them out."

"We had to paint lamb's blood on our doorways to show who was Hebrew and who wasn't. This is where we get 'Passover': God had told us that when he sees the blood on our doors, he will pass over us. Passover. _Pass over._"

"Did anyone warn any of the Egyptians?" I asked, "Surely there were some who did not support pharaoh."

Father heaved a deep sigh, bowing his head. The camel strolled over the sand as he remained silent. His words hung unspoken in the air. Surely someone had warned the Egyptian families. I couldn't imagine the grief so many had to go through, waking up to find their child dead. A shiver crept up my spine despite the oppressive heat.

"No," father said, voice shaking. He cleared his throat. "No one warned them."

"Do you suppose God would have taken their souls anyway?"

"I don't know, but I do know this—I will not allow God to take away any more first-borns, especially not in Egypt."

"Why didn't you warn Pharaoh?"

"I _did_ warn him," father insisted, "I told him that something worse than all the other plagues would happen if he would not let the Hebrews go."

"You didn't specify." I guessed.

"I did—to lose a child is worse than all the nine plagues together. Believe me."

"But you only told him something worse was coming—not that children would die."

"I did warn him—but he was no longer listening," father continued, "for it was in the ninth plague—three days of darkness—he proclaimed he would do as his father had done."

I shook my head, aghast. "No…"

"Yes, yes he did—and that was what sentenced him to watch his first-born die."

"_And_ the other Egyptian first-borns, even though they didn't do anything."

"He had it coming," father asserted, "it was written in God's will that when pharaoh threatened the Hebrews, then God would smite all the first-born in the land."

"Then why the lamb's blood?" I asked. I liked this story less and less.

"To show him where our Hebrew people lived, so that our children might not be smote. The Egyptian first-borns were for God to take."

"They did nothing wrong," I argued, shocked that father was stating this so calmly, "surely you could have warned _someone_."

Father shook his head, "sacrifices had to be made, Gershom, and it was what God willed."

"Sacrifices?" I echoed, shaken. I was a first-born!

"It was for the greater good—Pharaoh let us go and the Hebrews were free."

"Not before Pharaoh brought his army against you!"

"Regrettable, but he brought it on himself."

"His land's children and his first-born had died!" I cried, "of course he would seek revenge!"

"Do you think I liked it?!" father snapped, voice cracking, "Do you think I look back on that night with joy and celebration, Gershom? Why else do you think I walk out after every Passover to say a little prayer for the lost souls? Do not presume without knowing the full story! Do you know what I did after seeing Pharaoh one last time? I _wept_, Gershom, I _wept!_ I wept for Pharaoh's son, and for all of Egypt! I had never wept as I had that night!"

A tense silence fell upon us as we rode without another word. Father didn't often snap like that, but his words rang in my ears, shaking me to my very soul. He had sobbed for the first-borns who died that night. Including Pharaoh's first-born son—his own adoptive brother's offspring.

"Father?" I spoke meekly.

"Yes, Gershom, I'm listening."

"Why…why didn't you…" I hesitated. Would he snap at me again? Would he say nothing?

"Why didn't I what?" he sounded weary.

"Why didn't you try to save your brother's son, at least?" I half-whispered.

"Because he had to lose something he held dear before he would learn from his pride," father said evenly.

"If it had to be Pharaoh's son, why didn't God off just him?"

Father did not have an answer to that.

"Then why not Pharaoh himself? Then all you had to do was walk back and free…" I stopped mid-sentence, my mind having caught up with my mouth. Too late, I'd realised I'd suggested the death of Rameses.

Fortunately, father did not snap, but he did sigh heavily, as though reliving that terrible night.

"That is a good question," he agreed, "but God had to show him that he would not give up on his people so easily. It is pharaoh who had to give permission. His little boy was too young to rule on his own either way."

But what did I think? Did _all_ the first-borns have to die to force Pharaoh to let the Hebrews go? What if he would have let them go had just his own son died? Would he have gone after the Hebrews? What if father had tried to be diplomatic to Rameses? What if there was more to the story than father let on? Why was Rameses so stubborn? He had to have a reason to hold on till the tenth plague.

"I can sense you've got many questions, Gershom," father guessed, "but a lot of the questions we will have answered when we see God after death. Do you understand?"

"Just one more question," I pleaded, "I promise."

"What is it, then?"

"I…I was thinking—would Pharaoh have let the Hebrews go had _only_ his son died?"

Father did not speak for a long time, as though caught up in his own thoughts. The camel slobbered and snorted, tripped over its feet, and the sun scorched our skin.

"I don't know," he said at last, "I don't know, Gershom. I don't think I even knew my brother anymore."

I heard such immeasurable sadness in his words I did not dare speak any further of Egypt or even of Rameses, the man he had called "brother".

* * *

Many days passed as we traversed the desert with its hills and valleys of wind-swept dunes. A couple times, we had to stop and frantically set up camp when dust-storms headed our way. We were lucky we didn't lose anything during the sand-storms that engulfed the desert like billowing clouds before a thunderstorm.

_Like the plague of hail in Egypt. _

During one of these terrifying dust-storms, I settled down with father in the tent, trying to block out the howling sand attempting to wrestle our tent out from the ground. Father had done well to rope down the tent and pegs before the storm took over.

But certain things still bothered me, even after father explained the rituals born from the first Passover, including the unleavened bread and bitter herbs. I still could not get the idea out of my head that there _had_ to have been better ways to persuade pharaoh. There had to be a better way to confront Rameses—and maybe not when they had _just_ reunited after twenty-three years. I knew that if Elizer did the same thing, I too would be upset.

_Little wonder Pharaoh Rameses was so angry when father told him the real reason he'd come, _I reflected, _for goodness sake, Pharaoh had thought his brother dead for over twenty years! Father could have thought about that…_

"You're looking a little annoyed over there, son," father observed, his eyes gazing at my face.

"Oh it's nothing," I said hastily, trying to look happier than I felt, "just listening to the dust-storm outside."

_How much of a diplomat was father? What about God? _

I caught my breath, praying God would forgive me for criticising him. But surely there had to be a better way. With all the questions blossoming like flowers in a garden, I was surprised I didn't find questions leaking out of my ears.

_Did father consider why pharaoh would not let the people go? Did he consider what it would mean for his workforce? _

Not that I condoned the enslavement of our people—but what about Pharaoh's economy? Where would he find more workers? Father had spoken of the Nile's habitual flooding and recession each year.

_Why didn't pharaoh use the labour workers during the flooding? Did they just sit at home twiddling their thumbs? Did father consider other ways for Pharaoh to replace the Hebrews? _

Much as I loved father, I knew that he was just a shepherd and leader of his people. He never had to worry about economy or labour force, nor did he have experience in such things. He never needed to stress over strikes or low income, for we didn't have such worries in the desert. But pharaoh, who ruled over all 'Upper' and 'Lower' Egypt, had all the stresses of running a country pressing on his shoulders like a heavy block of limestone.

"Gershom, something worries you," father said, jolting me out of my thoughts, "I can tell."

I realised I'd been rubbing my neck with my hand—I did it whenever I was worried. Quickly, I brought my hand away from my neck, pretending that all was well.

"Nothing," I said, forcing a smile, "nothing bothers me, father."

"Look, Gershom, you can tell me anything that's on your mind. I won't be upset with any questions you have for me."

_You will be upset, _I warned silently, but did not say anything.

"I know," I assured him instead, forcing a smile on my face, "so, what about dinner then?"

_I'll ask tomorrow. Maybe._

* * *

As it turned out, I didn't ask for many days. But what did happen was that I heard more of Passover's history and why it was so important to the Hebrews, for its representation to our freedom from slavery. Then, father went even farther back in history, recounting the time Joseph and his brothers lived in Egypt, and the many generations that had passed before a pharaoh who did not know of Joseph—Seti—had taken the throne, and put the Hebrews under hard labour. Father had heard this inspiring history from Aaron and Miriam, who knew so much more than father ever had during his time at the Egyptian palace as a youth. I shuddered that Joseph's brothers had ever sold their own brother to slavery.

_Would I do that to mine? _I wondered, _Even if I became the bitterest foe to him? _And then I realised, _Pharaoh Rameses had the power to force father into slavery. He never did. _

I marvelled at Joseph's ability to forgive his brothers in the end, even despite the cruel slavery that they had entered him into—only for him to become the second most powerful man in the land of Egypt. Perhaps one day, when I passed from this earth, I would meet Joseph.

"Would you too want to meet Joseph?" I asked father.

"With all my heart," he confirmed, "he has been an inspiration to many Hebrews—not just Miriam and Aaron."

"You remind me a little of him," I revealed.

"Do I?"

"You told me you still forgave pharaoh even after what he did, even after knowing he hated your people, and he wanted you dead. Why?"

"He is still my brother. You would do the same if it were Elizer, I'm sure."

Would I? Would I forgive my brother even if he hated me and turned against our people? Not that he would do that—but in a hypothetical situation, would I? Would I understand why?

"I know he had a lot of pressure from his father to be the best pharaoh he could possibly be," father continued quietly, "and I believe he was always afraid of being the weak link."

"Losing his army, child, and city would confirm it in his mind," I blurted before my thoughts could catch up. What _was_ with me blurting things out lately? "Why would he bother to live all these years knowing he was the weak link after all?"

"Gershom, the human spirit has a miraculous way of still fighting through even at the worst of times, when you are at your lowest and worst fortune in the world," father mentored, "I believe this may have happened with Rameses. It has happened to me, so why should it not happen to Rameses. You will be surprised by the resilience God has gifted to man and woman. Otherwise none of us would fight past terrible fortune and luck. You will know one day what I mean."

* * *

A pleasant quietude fell over the conversation as the camel plodded along, never stopping nor stumbling. Only a few nights remained before the moon had completed its full cycle, and it seemed to me we would never see Egypt. Traders crossed our path, waving at our camel as they passed us. One shouted to us something about Egypt, pointing in the direction of that distant land.

"You are half a day's journey from Egypt!" a trader shouted, waving merrily before going on his way.

"Thank you!" father shouted at the man's retreating back.

_Soon I will see Egypt, _I marvelled, _and soon we may see Pharaoh and his subjects. _

My thoughts recalled my questions from many days ago when we had hid in our tent from a dust-storm. But was now the time with Egypt so near? Perhaps with his lightened mood, father would be more receptive to my thoughts.

"Father," I began, "did you think about the economy then?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Did you think about how Pharaoh could replace the Hebrews?" I asked, "I remember you telling me about the workless labourers whenever the river flooded. Did they sit at home tapping their foot impatiently until the river receded?"

The silence wasn't as pleasant as before—now it turned awkward and tense.

"You are intelligent, son," father said quietly, "I admit, that had never crossed my mind."

I squinted ahead, as though I might see Egypt gleaming on the horizon. "So will they be sitting at home doing nothing if the river's flooded now?"

"Perhaps Rameses has been advised," father said, but I could hear doubt in his voice, "if he has not enslaved more people."

"Wouldn't God have said whether he had enslaved people again?" I couldn't imagine why he wouldn't.

"Yes," father said with complete conviction, "I know He would have."

"Did you understand at all the implications of letting the entire workforce—slaves they may have been—go without a backup workforce system in place?"

Father's shoulders tensed.

"If you had talked with him—"

"I had," father interrupted, "I told him it was wrong that slaves should build his city."

"And yet he had ordinary peasants as his soldiers. Why couldn't those peasants build his city when the river flooded?"

"They would not want to do it," father answered, his voice clipped.

"What if they wanted to? What if they wished to honour the glory of Pharaoh?"

"What if they didn't?" father suggested, "of course they wouldn't. Who would do that work?"

"People who wanted to honour their pharaoh _and_ who had nothing to do during the inundation!" I argued, "The farmers would have had something to do—"

"The farmers would not have wished to," father said, obviously not budging, "it would have served no purpose."

"It would have!" I reasoned, "if the peasants were willing to build while the Nile was inundated, then it was a simple matter of agreeing to let the Hebrews go!"

"He would never have agreed," father said.

I clenched my teeth.

_Father denies he is as stubborn as Pharaoh Rameses, and yet he is!_

"If you had spoken to him—"

"I had, Gershom," father said, his voice becoming angrier, "he would not listen! God had no choice but to send the plagues to make him listen! Do you or do you not understand?"

"I understand," I said through gritted teeth, "but you do not know the thoughts and desires of each peasant! They could have been more than willing to build his monuments!"

"We will speak no more of this, Gershom—I have spoken the truth, and you must accept that he would not listen."

_Because you returned after twenty-three years only to tell him to let the slaves go. _

To my annoyance, tears of frustration watered my vision. I swiped them away with a hand and stared ahead, waiting for the tell-tale gleam and shape of a distant city. As the camel trudged on, I came to a slow realisation that I was beginning to feel at least partially sorry for Pharaoh Rameses. From what father had told me of his childhood and youth in Egypt, and Rameses' jubilant reaction on seeing him again, the pharaoh had truly loved his brother. He cared, and when father had pushed that all aside without a second thought, no wonder Pharaoh Rameses became upset and angry.

_I would too, _I reflected, _God forbid that Elizer should ever do the same to me. _

* * *

The sun crossed the sky, tossing shadows over the dunes and hills of the desert. The camel's shadow slid from under the animal until it popped out from under its flank. And in the distance, the unmistakable silhouette of a city loomed larger than ever. Not too far away, a body of water reflected the sunlight as cataracts of water tumbled over rocks.

"The Nile River," father breathed, "Gershom, we made it."

"We're…we're in Egypt?" I marvelled, hardly daring to believe it.

"We will have a ways to go yet before reaching the city that holds the palace, but yes, we have made it. Egypt lies before us."

We had arrived at last.


	6. Chapter 6: Moses

_(A/N: I have finally returned from my holiday, which means at last this can move forward again! Thank you so much for your patience all those following this story. I managed to handwrite a few chapters, including this one, so I will transcribe them onto the computer over the next day or so. Khaemwaset was a son of the real Ramesses II, so he'd be around the same age as Gershom here, maybe a couple years younger.)  
_

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_Moses_

To see my old childhood home again, when I had left it so devastated, was a shock. I could not speak, for I had no words for my astonishment and confounded emotions on seeing Egypt after twenty years. It was practically unrecognisable from the ruins I had left.

_Is this still my home? _I wondered, _or am I a stranger in a familiar land, just as Gershom is now a stranger in a strange land? _

"Father?"

I barely noticed that my son had spoken, so overwhelmed was I with seeing Egypt again. It wasn't in full glory, but it had healed well from what I could see. But I was still so far away, near the Nile delta. Perhaps it wasn't as healthy as it appeared at first glance.

"Will we be welcomed here?"

Trying not to show my fears, I merely shook my head, still staring at the place that used to be my home.

"I just pray we do not have too much trouble," I said, "we must be careful."

For the first time in living memory, I truly feared being in Egypt, the land I once called home. Once, Egypt was all I ever wanted. Now all I wanted was to know what God wanted from me, and return to my simple—yet beautiful—home in the desert. Homesickness ached in my heart, but I tried not to show it. I had to be strong for Gershom, and not show any desire to return home and never come back to Egypt again.

I coaxed the weary camel toward the glittering Nile Delta ahead. Farmers worked under the hot sun, their backs bent over the harvest, their heads covered by simple head-cloths. Most of the peasants wore at least a loin-cloth, while others wore a very simple, starchy-looking kilt about their waist. I could see other peasants leading cattle around their farms to trample the seeds into the soil. If the flood had been good, the harvests would be bountiful and healthy.

As our camel passed the dozens of peasants toiling under the hot sun, some looked up our way, but continued with their work. A few continued to stare as we trotted by, but did not call out to us. What had the peasants to fear from a couple nomads and a camel? We had no obvious weapons, and no chariots with archers and soldiers followed us. Assured of their safety, the peasants could continue on with their farming.

* * *

Padding into the city of Memphis, the bustling noise of a busy marketplace greeted my ears. People argued over trades, sellers swapped sales, and children wailed as they lost parents in the confusion. Women balanced baskets on their heads or cradled in their arms as men argued why their asking price was fairer than the seller's.

As we pushed into the throng, children swarmed around the camel, all lost parents forgotten for the moment. They pulled at the cloth around the camel's torso and chatted like monkeys between each other.

"Is that a camel?" one boy asked me.

I couldn't help but grin. "_Our _camel," I clarified, pointing a finger over at my son. "It wasn't always a camel."

The boy's eyes widened, and his mouth fell open in surprise. "What was it then?"

"A sheep."

"That's not true!" a girl cried, "sheep don't turn into camels!"

"This one did."

The girl scowled, crossing her arms. "I'm not stupid."

Then, another child spoke up, "are you a foreigner?"

Well, what could I answer to that? I decided to keep it simple.

"Yes, from the desert a very long way away."

"How far away?"

Just then, an old man dressed in guard wear tweaked the boy's ear.

"OW!" the boy yelled.

"He is dangerous!" the guard shouted, "he destroyed Egypt!"

A cold feeling came over me. Did he recognise and remember?

"But Egypt's not destroyed," a third child pointed out, "and he doesn't look that dangerous."

"You don't know anything!" the guard snapped in the child's direction.

"I know you're a grumpy old man, that's what!"

Several children giggled.

"Go!" the guard glared up at me, "leave Egypt!"

"Mean grumpy father's father!" the boy whose ear was tweaked cried, "you're mean!"

The camel decided this was the perfect time to let fly a glob of spit. It landed right on the guard's forehead. He yelled in disgust, swiping at his forehead as the children cheered for the camel.

"You're a good camel!" a girl praised, patting the animal's neck.

The camel stepped forward into a walk, the children parting like the Red Sea on the long ago Exodus. A few children ran ahead, pointing out food stalls.

"Should we get some food, then?" Gershom asked.

"We may as well," I agreed, pressing the camel's flanks with my feet to make it kneel. "You stay here."

Taking an empty bag and my staff with me, I walked straight to a market stall where an old man sold food. As I made my way to the front, I heard little snips of conversations and new whispers puffing through the air.

"That foreigner looks familiar…"

"Isn't that the man…"

I ignored the talking around me, praying no-one would pinch my trading supplies. The old woman in front finished buying and moved away to reveal the wigged old man.

"You're a Hebrew," he stated with confidence.

"Yes I am."

Whispers grew louder around me.

"My father told me some Hebrew upset Ma'at," the man continued as he eyed my grain sack, "sending down death and destruction."

"Wasn't his name Moses?" a woman interrupted.

"Yes!" a second remembered, "Moses!"

_Don't react to the name,_ I told myself with urgency, _don't let them see you are that man. Just get some food. _

Even as I picked new supplies, I heard more snippets of conversations.

"…almost destroyed pharaoh…"

"…came back utterly defeated…"

"…plenty of children…"

"…thought we'd drop our traditions…"

"…like the pharaoh who…"

"My first-born died…"

"Mine too, sister—he brought the death."

"Even pharaoh lost his son…"

"…my livestock, gone…"

Supplies replenished, I squeezed my way through the chattering crowd. They would not part so easily, hands grabbing at my robes and stick as I attempted a headway back to the camel where Gershom waited.

"You wear his robes!" an accusing youngster accosted.

"Are you him?" another old man demanded.

"Many robes of this make exist," I fibbed, knowing I broke one of my Ten Commandments,. It was either that or never reach the camel until night fell.

The crowd parted, allowing me free passage to the animal and Gershom.

"What happened?" he asked as he helped haul the supplies on the camel.

"Nothing," I said quickly, "but I suspect some remember."

"You refer to the plagues?" Gershom guessed.

"Yes," I admitted.

A shadow of worry passed over Gershom's face. "Will we be safe here?"

I took a deep breath, stalling for time. What could I say? I couldn't say with confidence we would be absolutely safe. For what if Rameses still sought to take revenge?

_God has never been wrong, _I attempted to assure myself.

But what if he was wrong this time?

"We shall find out," I said, stomach churning with uneasiness, "I pray God will keep us out of harm's way."

But going to pharaoh would put us potentially in harm's way. Nevertheless, God wanted me to show Gershom Egypt and reunite with pharaoh. I wasn't usually a big worrier, but I worried.

_What if he's wrong? _

I flexed the camel's reins and it began moving at a steady trot, the supplies jangling about behind and below us. As the camel passed through Memphis's streets, I spotted here and there signs of recovery. Damaged temples had been pulled down or restored. Felled monuments had been cleared or recycled in building new architecture to restore Egypt. Memphis glowed proud in the sun, showing its healthy face once again.

* * *

The sun edged toward the west as we plodded on past bazaars, musicians, and other citizens populating Memphis's streets. Far away, the three pyramids jutted out of the desert, impaling the otherwise unbroken skyline. It looked like we were set to stay in Memphis at least overnight. As long as we didn't camp right on top of a crocodile or hippo, we were sure to be fine.

Then—I stopped short, gaping up at a collosal statue right in front of us.

"That's a big statue," Gershom remarked.

The statue was giant, and its face wasn't of just any pharaoh. No, the features I knew very well—for the monument bore the face of Rameses.

"Gone back to his old way," I commented, "building his monuments to himself."

Gershom asked, "more slaves?"

"No, God has told me there are no more slaves."

"Paid labour?"

I stared around at him, uncomprehending. "What?"

"Do you understand? People getting paid to build monuments to pharaoh."

_Why had I never suggested that before? _

"It's not _that_ far-fetched," Gershom persisted, "all he had to do was employ farmers during the inundation, or else they're at home drumming their fingers."

"They did that generations ago," I recalled, "before they enslaved other people."

_When Joseph was alive…_

"Then why couldn't he now?" Gershom debated.

I stared at the monument, trying to come up with an answer.

"Perhaps he has," I said, as I made the camel walk again past the huge statues.

* * *

The camel plodded onward, smacking its lips, but always obeying our lead all the same. People stared at the camel as we passed before they continued on with their chores. I heard Gershom's wonderment as we passed temples to various gods, more statues to the gods and pharaoh, and shrines decorated with simple geometric designs. So it was unusual to see one temple without insignia of a deity, Egyptian or otherwise. The usual designs attributed to a deity were absent, leaving only geometric patterns lining its walls with yellow, black, and red.

"Stop."

The camel halted as I stared, puzzled, at the godless temple, until I spotted a small alcove in the front wall of the building. Would this hold a deity's image?

"Odd…" I said aloud.

"What's odd?"

I turned the camel in the temple's direction.

"See that temple?"

"What's so odd about it?"

"Usually it is clear which god it belongs to, but this one…" a prickle at the back of my neck, "this one has none."

_A temple to an imageless, nameless god…_

I made the camel kneel, and slid off its side, followed by Gershom. Sand slid into my sandals as I ambled to the temple until I was close enough to see inside the alcove.

"What is in there?" Gershom asked, coming up beside me.

I peered into the small depression, straining my eyes to make out something. Seeing nothing, I leaned in closer, shading my eyes from the sun's glare.

"No use wasting your time," a man's voice called, "you will find nothing in there."

I flinched, looking around to see a young man standing outside the entranceway. Like most Egyptians, he donned a fine-looking wig held in place by a gold headpiece. His kilt seemed to be woven from the finest linen, and gold bracelets sparkled off his wrists and upper arms. Clearly, this was a rich man. His rigid posture, and the way he held a scroll protectively against his chest, suggested to me a serious, studious man. The sun had begun to lower behind him, so his features were in shadow.

"May we ask who you are?" Gershom queried.

The young man marched up to us; now his face was in clear view. I struggled not to stare at his eyes or nose, as they resembled Rameses' almost exactly.

"I am Prince Khaemwaset," the man introduced himself, "one of the sons of the king, a priest, scribe, and historian. But you will find me humble."

_I wouldn't describe you as humble, _I thought.

Out aloud, I said, "You are a priest of this temple?"

"It does not have a priest."

"It's a temple," Gershom pointed out.

"I am quite aware of that—but the temple has no name nor priests, for it had been built for the god with no name," Khaemwaset's eyes bore into mine, "the god of the Hebrews."


	7. Chapter 7: Gershom

**Chapter Seven**

_Gershom_

I thought father would keel over right then. Never had I seen his face turn pale so fast.

"The Hebrew god…" father breathed, "He has a name."

The pudgy Khaemwaset's face softened, now looking more interested than serious.

"Would you mind telling me? I am a head priest at a temple of Ptah here."

Father tightened his lips the way he did when hesitating for time. Khaemwaset appeared to sense his reluctance and held up a hand.

"I will not take great offense if you do not wish to say," the man assured, "I will understand."

Father relaxed his shoulders, "What's inside the temple?"

Khaemwaset grimaced a little, shifting his papyrus scroll to his other arm. "It is something you will not wish to be unprepared to witness."

"I've witnessed terrible things," father assured, "I am certain it will be no less awful. What lies within?"

Khaemwaset heaved a great sigh. "Just names and images. Many names, especially of the last plague."

"The death of the first born?" I blurted.

Khaemwaset blinked, seeming too stunned for words.

"How do you know?"

I felt father's eyes on me as I scrambled to think up something.

"I have heard stories," I explained, "many stories of Egypt."

"I'll have you know now—the stories you have heard are true," Khaemwaset declared, "we are still rebuilding my homeland, and believe me, we are not done. Not by a long way." Khamewaset turned swiftly to face the entrance. "If you feel so prepared, follow me."

I gulped—father might be prepared, but me? I couldn't help but think how awful our God would seem to the Egyptians who had suffered his plagues.

_He has struck terrible things against Egypt,_ I thought, _how benevolent would that seem? _

Even I had to admit—not very.

Nevertheless, I trailed behind the prince and father, over the steps leading into the temple. A sense of foreboding washed over me—no windows, save for an opening in the roof—lightened the interior. As the sun had long passed its midday height, there were patches of walls too dark to see. Despite this, the sights that I _could_ see were near indescribable.

Lining the walls were dizzying rows of tiny pictures. To me, they appeared random and arbitrary—not an ounce of sense they made.

"Hieroglyphs," father whispered, "used only in temples, tombs, and on monuments."

Images appeared to blaze from the darkness like flames. Kneeling women with hands thrown above heads, men with hands raised in front as though worshipping something unseen, and what appeared to be stylised mass graves full of dead people. Along the top of the walls scattered ten drawings in what appeared to be in some chronological order.

"You see that, don't you?" Khaemwaset asked, pointing at the drawings, "the ten plagues."

Now it made sense, even with the unreadable hieroglyphs next to them. Khaemwaset walked forward, eyes locked on the hieroglyphs.

"'In the 23rd Year of the Reign of His Majesty, Rameses, these terrible plagues did strike Egypt. The names of many…'are you quite alright?" Khaemwaset directed the last question at father, who looked even paler and a little shaky.

"Yes," he managed, "I'm fine."

"Is the name Moses familiar to you?" Khaemwaset asked, "have you known him?"

Father inhaled a shuddering breath. "Very well."

"Father spoke of Moses even as he ordered his name struck from the land."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

Khaemwaset turned to me. "To damn their souls to a second death. Should their names be forgotten, or their faces' image struck out, they will suffer a permanent, second death."

A shiver crawled up my spine. Despite the dim light, I could tell father leaned heavily on his staff, hands trembling. I believe Khaemwaset noticed too.

"This has been too much for you," Khaemwaset told father, "perhaps we should…"

But father shook his head. "No, Prince Khaemwaset, please continue."

The prince didn't appear to wish to continue, but did so nevertheless. Raising his eyes to the inscriptions, he continued.

" '…the names of many thousands who had perished are written on these walls. Many more have died without anyone knowing their name, and so perished without their name written.'" Khaemwaset paused, "that is what is written there," he pointed again, "I believe you are familiar with the plagues?"

"We both are," I confirmed, "my father has spoken of them many times. After all, he was one of the Hebrews there."

"You were not born yet?"

"No—only after fath—_Moses_—had attained freedom for his people," I explained, praying the prince didn't hear me nearly say 'father'. "There was, as it were, plenty of celebration in freedom."

A small laugh from Khaemwaset. "It does not surprise me. You must have had plenty of peers."

"Masses," I agreed, "although I myself have one brother."

"So had I," Khaemwaset admitted, "father had plenty of children once he begun restoring Egypt. I am the fourth-born son—but second in line for the throne. One of his other sons had died early, just as his first-born, Amunherkhepeshef had."

"Amun…run that by me again?" father asked.

"Amunherkhepeshef," Khaemwaset repeated.

"Amunherkhepeshef," father echoed, "a long name."

"I gather mine is easier to pronounce and remember," Khaemwaset quipped. "Enough of that—do you wish to see more?"

Father agreed, and we listened as Khaemwaset led us through plague after plague, past terrified drawings and ominous swarms of disease-carrying insects. Frogs crept along the bottom of the walls, stopping short at the ninth plague.

"Only the Hebrew village remained adorned with sunlight," Khaemwaset said, pointing to a drawing of a crowd of houses ablaze with light, "the rest of Egypt knew only darkness."

At last—the tenth plague, represented by many women kneeling or standing with arms raised over heads. Tiny dots—presumably tears—trickled from their kohl-rimmed eyes. Their hair dishevelled and bosoms bare, the women appeared the epitome of lamentation. Before them lay masses of dead. I was not there at the time, but even so, my stomach twisted with sickness and my heart ached with sadness to witness such devastation. A burning prickling touched my eyelids as I imagined the torture of the innocents who suffered and died.

Father gasped as he drew level with a drawing of a man, clearly a king, carrying a child in his arms.

" 'Not even the son of His Majesty had been spared,'" Khaemwaset read, " 'and verily the man he called brother, Moses, did come to him. His Majesty, then, permitted the people to leave. His son, dead, his country's little sons perished the same night, he sought vengeance—the vengeance of a grieving father.'"

Father's staff wobbled in his shaking hands. "I…I don't blame him…"

Khaemwaset turned worried eyes on him. "You appear in a very shocked state," he observed, "you look ready to pass out anytime."

Quite frankly, I agreed with the prince of Egypt.

"It'll pass," father insisted, "I am only overwhelmed."

Khaemwaset regarded him with unhidden scepticism. "Be that as it may, I am only worried it will be too much for you."

"No, I want to see more," father said in a stubborn tone.

We followed Khaemwaset around a corner, where we were now privy to a piece of artwork full of chariots, led by the king to a body of water split in half.

"The Red Sea," we three pronounced at the same time.

Khaemwaset pointed at some more inscriptions. "'His Majesty took his army of chariots with him to the Red Sea, and sought to kill all the Hebrews.'"

I gripped father's arm—even I fretted he'd pass out anytime now. His staff now rattled on the floor from his shaking hands.

"_All _the Hebrews?" father's voice shook.

"Every last one," Khaemwaset confirmed.

_Including the man he'd called brother! _

"…but the story is not yet done." Khaemwaset counselled.

Now the prince guided us to another drawing splashed over a wall. A large body of water separated the Hebrews—who were walking away from the sea—and the king stranded on a rock. The king's arms were raised in a similar manner to the mourners we saw earlier.

"Father knew then—understood—he would know only defeat against Moses' unnamed god. He would return home, try to amend things," Khaemwaset revealed, "to show his respectful fear to the unnamed god, he vowed to build a temple."

Khaemwaset swept an arm at the final drawing, which sported a depiction of this very temple being built. Standing, watching the temple in progress, was a figure clad in red robes, holding a staff, and sporting brown hair and a beard.

Khaemwaset strolled up to the wall, studying the red-robed figure for a time. Then—he turned swiftly to look straight at father, his eyes taking in the robe and staff. Once the prince's eyes had swept over the robes and staff, there was the look of instant recognition in his eyes.

"_You _are Moses," the prince declared, "you are, aren't you?"

There was no way father could deny it now. The drawing was the spitting image of him, right down to the last hem in the red and gold robes.

"Yes," father half-whispered, "I am Moses."

"Why have you returned?"

"To see Egypt, to know it was better again," father leaned heavily on me, "for it once was my home."

Father's legs gave way, felling him to his knees; the staff clattered on the floor. Khaemwaset rushed forward to help me stand father on his feet again.

"Come outside," Khaemwaset commanded, "fresh air is the best medicine."

I picked up father's staff in my other hand before we headed to the temple's exit. The prince did not appear to mind helping whom should have been his foe. To the contrary, his expression held nothing but concern for my father, the Hebrew who had destructed Egypt.

Outside, the soft breeze swirled up minute grains of sand against bare skin. We settled down on the steps, the prince and I sitting on either side of father. Now seated, father leaned his head on his drawn knees.

"Breathe deep, and you'll be right in no time," Khaemwaset assured, "you're in safe hands."

I couldn't hold the question back anymore.

"Prince Khaemwaset, why did you help him?"

The man raised his eyebrows. "You think I shouldn't?"

"No, that's not it," I said, "I meant—you know he's Moses."

"You are correct," the prince agreed, "but I could see that he did not like what memories the images had brought up for him. No-one who _liked _what he had to do would react such as Moses, your father, had."

Father raised his head, running his fingers through curly, grey hair. He still looked pale, but not so shaky as before.

"How do you feel, father?" I queried.

"Give me a while longer," he answered, now turning to address the Egyptian, "thank you."

"I hold no hatred against you, Moses," the prince revealed, "as I too see why you had to do it."

Father sighed deeply, "I have had a feeling your father would never forgive me."

Khaemwaset tilted his head as though pondering on father's claim.

"Do you truly think so?"

"I know it would take _me_ a long time," father admitted, "and never is a long time."

"You assume a lot of the king," Khaemwaset commented, "but I see why you would believe so."

Father looked Khaemwaset straight in his eyes. "Would it be safe to see the palace again?"

"Why shouldn't it? Perhaps things have changed at the palace and in the king's heart." Khaemwaset swept an arm in front of him. "Look, what do you see?"

Father stared around, taking in the buildings we could see, but with one difference.

"I don't see slaves," he observed, "and I see one man exchanging grain with some workers."

"That would be his employer," Khaemwaset explained, "and he pays his workers with bread and beer rations."

"Why?" I asked.

"I do not know about you, but would you not want some refreshing beer after a long day?"

"Who suggested it? Was it you?"

Khaemwaset chuckled, but shook his head. "You flatter me, and I would love to say it was me. Alas, no."

"Then whom?"

"One of father's new viziers—new at the time of appointment." Khaemwaset stretched, moving to stand up. "Moses, I believe your camel is waiting."

I gasped—we had not tethered the camel!

"The camel!" I exclaimed, standing up, "father, it may have wandered!"

Leaving the two behind, I sprinted around the temple to where we had left our camel. When I stopped, out of breath, to my relief I saw that it had stayed put. God must have ensured it waited its patience.

"Good camel," I praised, patting its neck, "kneel—father is coming soon."

I jumped up onto the animal's back, only to disturb a piece of old papyrus that fluttered from around the rein. I caught it, unrolling the strip. It was written in a language I couldn't read—but it was possibly Egyptian."

Soon, Khaemwaset and father appeared from the side of the temple. Father smiled as he saw me astride the camel.

"Hasn't run away on us, then, Gershom?" he shouted, "stayed put like a good girl!"

I fluttered the piece of paper. "Found this wrapped around its reins—I don't understand the writing."

Both men walked right up to the camel, father stretching out a hand.

"Give it to me," he ordered.

I passed it into his hand and waited while he read. Khaemwaset looked the other way, keeping himself out of father's business.

"God help us," father said, looking around at us, "it only says, 'we know you are here. Stay, and we forfeit your life. Flee, and we will take chase'."

"But who?" I wondered, shaken, "who would write that?"

"Someone who does not wish you to be here," the prince said, "someone who recognised you, Moses, and remembered what had happened."

Father climbed onto the camel, sitting down behind me.

"We must make our way toward Thebes," he declared, "tonight."

"Tonight?" I echoed.

"If we stay here, the writer may find us. If we move, at night, he won't see." Father turned to address Khaemwaset. "Goodbye, Prince Khaemwaset."

Without another word, I flexed the reins and begun our flight out of Memphis.

_Who wrote it? _I wondered over and over, _who wants us dead? Surely not pharaoh! _

The sun had not begun setting, and already, a long night lay ahead of us, longer than we ever remembered night-time to be.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

I didn't want the sun to set so soon, but set it would—and did. When night fell, we would see our message-bearers too late. No moon would shine tonight—not even the skinniest of crescents. Despite fear hammering in my heart, I never let father know how terrified I was inside.

_God, guide our camel into safety, and deliver us alive! Hear our prayers in your ever-open ears. Look and watch over us, O Lord. _

That still gave me no comfort at all. I knew I should trust God would see us through, but I am not my father. I do not have the unshakeable faith he has. His faith wasn't as sturdy as a rock, no, it was as immovable as Mount Sinai itself. No matter what happened, he still trusted unconditionally.

As the camel trod through the unseen sand, blotted by night-time, I tried not to think about who could be out there, waiting. My breathing sounded too loud in my ears, though I tried to breathe as soft as I could. Every rustle, squeak, and crunch jangled my senses. Every noise, even the quietest, suggested we might be followed. The snap of a twig underfoot seemed like the snap of a bowstring, letting the arrow fly toward our unaware bodies. I flinched as an owl screeched and flew above us—it was nothing but a streak of white darting over our heads.

_Dear God, why did you create owls? _I complained silently, _they're so creepy and too quiet._

Except for the camel's mutterings, my breathing, and the occasional twig snapped underfoot, the night was quiet. _Too_ silent, as though even the night-loving critters were holding their breaths, too tense to move, lest they were seen. We moved, lest _we_ were seen.

_God, tell me we're not being followed, _I prayed, _all we want to do is escape to Thebes. _

Above us, stars swirled around the black sky as the hours melted into each other like two lovers on their wedding night. I watched constellations crawl across the sky, all seeking the western horizon. Father once said that the Egyptians believed their soul—_ba_—flew to the western horizon on death of the person.

"How're you keeping up?" father queried hours into the night.

"I want to sleep," I admitted, "but I understand we must escape."

Father gripped my shoulder, fingers tight on my robes, "Sh!" he hissed, "stop the camel."

I reined in sharp, the camel grumbling in protest. My heart pounded in my ears—had we been seen? Had the note writers caught up with us? Though I squinted into the dark, I saw nothing except the lightless houses with slumbering inhabitants.

"What is it?" I whispered.

Father shifted around behind me as he slid off the camel. I sat stock still, trying to breathe even quieter than before.

_Where are they? _I wondered, mouth dry with anxiety. _Will God protect us? _

I waited as father led the camel step by step toward a looming statue. Looking up as we crept behind the monument, I made out the angular shape of a king's headdress. No one could mistake it for anyone else but the pharaoh.

"What's going on?" I whispered.

Father waved a hand at me, "be still!"

I wanted to protest, but father's tone was final.

Biting my lip, I strained my hearing past the chittering birds.

Voices—all the deep tones that only belonged to men. They were close…too close. My heart thumped behind my ribs. They had caught up to us.

_How close are they? _

"That might be them," father whispered, "hold on while I get back on the camel."

The murmurs turned into shouts—they had found us.

"Now!" father urged, even as he swung himself on the camel's back.

I flexed the reins, feeling father's arms wrap around me as the camel galloped away from the furious yells. My hair flew away from my face as we raced from the shouting men. I heard clip-clopping and the sound of wheels.

"Chariots!" father warned, "Keep going!"

"How fast are chariots?" I cried.

"_Very _fast," was the reply, "They'll be quick to catch up, and our camel's tiring."

I flexed the reins again.

"Faster, camel! Faster than that!"

Father's arm appeared over my left shoulder, pointing at an alley with stairs.

"Look, over there! Turn that way up the steps!"

I steered the camel left, still flexing its reins. "Will the chariot go up the stairs?"

"They will—trust me! I've done it before!"

The camel protested about the steps, but with one sharp dig of my heels it was away. Clunks and neighs rang against the neighbourhood as the chariot—or were there two?—clattered up the steps. More shouts, but fainter now, as though we were leaving them behind.

_Please let us be leaving them behind far away! _I prayed.

Down at the bottom of the stairs, we entered the little, skinny alleyway and sped away past closed doors and shuttered windows. A cat screamed as we trod on the poor thing. No sooner had we ran over the cat, then we crashed into a tiny table, splinters and strangely-shaped pieces skittering over the ground.

"That makes senet table number two," father quipped, "we have a penchant for it."

"I don't under…" my voice trailed off as I recalled the story of a long ago chariot race. "Oh, so we ruined someone's new senet table."

"I'd stop to apologise, but now's not the time," father said above the noise, "let's hope their chariots get stuck. A camel's fine here, but not—"

Squeak! Frustrated yelling and terrified neighs met our ears. Father actually whooped.

"There go their fancy new chariots!" he exalted.

"Father, is it just me, or are you enjoying this?" I asked in disbelief, keenly aware of my trembling hands. "It sounds so to me. Reminding you of your chariot racing in boyhood?"

"Including destroying senet tables."

I slowed the panting camel to a walk, now we were assured the chariots and the men had turned back.

"Father?" I called softly after a long pause.

"What is it, Gershom?"

"Do you have anything against senet?"

"What? No, why?"

"You seem to relish destroying them."

"It was only the one, Gershom!"

"Two."

"One. You rode the camel through the other one yourself."

"You sounded happy about it."

Father sighed, but not from exasperation. "Nostalgia, Gershom, just nostalgia."

"You just don't like senet," I goaded, "that's why."

"Believe me, there's a reason it's the most popular game in Egypt. You need to try it one day." A long pause, before, rather offhandedly, "and chariot racing's not that bad. Just don't destroy temples while you're at it."

"Because you did it, that means I cannot?"

"Alright, Gershom, that's enough," father said firmly. "It's almost first light, and we better try to find a place to set up our tent and catch up on sleep."

Drowsiness collapsed on me like a tent felled in a dust-storm—now all I wanted to do was close my eyes and sleep.

"I want you to go and sleep," father directed as we led the camel to a secluded area near the Nile, "I'll keep watch for a few more hours."

I yawned like a hippo that hadn't slept for two days. "Thank you…"

* * *

Hours later, we had caught up on sleep, and it seemed that—for now—we were not being hounded by anyone.

"Where are we?" I asked, staring around at the desert and what was presumably the city of Memphis far behind us.

"We made quite the trip last night," father said, "so we must not be far from Thebes."

"How much longer?"

"Hopefully another day's travel, and we're there."

"Hope you're right," I remarked, eyeing the camel's matted fur, "think the camel's almost had it."

"It better not get too worn out on us," father commented, "not when we're so close."

"What will happen once we get to Thebes?"

Father straightened his back, "We go to the palace."

"Straight to the palace?"

"We will tell Pharaoh we have met his son, Khaemwaset," father continued, "and we will, God willing, be safe once Pharaoh knows why we are here."

_Father better be right, _I thought, _he has to be! _

* * *

Father was right; a day and a half's travel and we found ourselves on the outskirts of Thebes, where the Pharaoh reigned from his palace. Like other cities and towns we had passed through, the buildings seemed to glow in the sunshine.

Father pointed ahead. "See that? It's the gate into Thebes."

I squinted into the gleaming city. As father said, huge gates loomed at the city's entrance. Father turned to look at me, still leading the camel. A great smile deepened the lines around his mouth and the crow's feet at his eyes' borders.

"Welcome to Thebes, my son."


	9. Chapter 9: Moses

**Chapter Nine **

_Moses_

It didn't matter how prepared I believed myself to be—it was still a shock to see Thebes again after twenty years. I had left it behind devastated, and now it had been rebuilt, the buildings and monuments in full glory. But Thebes was more than its buildings: it was also a city of memories. It was a city of chariot races, swimming at the Nile, pranking the populace, and other youthful hijinks.

_Would the man I call "brother" still call _me_ "brother"? _

Likely not, considering the last time we'd met, he had been after Hebrew blood—including _my_ Hebrew blood. A cold feeling slithered up my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Would he order me executed on the spot? With just one word, he could demand my life forfeited. One snap of his fingers, a cold glance at his guards flanking his throne, and I'd be led off to execution.

_Even I would not have the final say, _I realised, _I would be executed—by fire, impalement, or drowning. _

I realised my palms were sweating, my heart pounded under my robes. The more I tried not to imagine being consumed by fire, held under the Nile, or waiting to die impaled on a wooden spike, the stronger the images became.

_He'd kill the man he called brother. _

I shut my eyes tightly for a moment, trying to remove the images, and behind my eyelids I saw cold, dark eyes. The eyes of Rameses. My heart leapt in my chest, as though trying to tear itself out of my chest, bury itself in the sand at my feet, and shrivel up in sheer terror. Never had I been so afraid of Rameses before, not even during the Exodus when he had hounded my people with his army of chariots. But now…my life hung in the balance.

_Am I making a huge mistake? _I agonised. _Am I wrong to trust God so much, so unconditionally? Will I be dead within two sunrises? _

I knew my son believed my faith unshakeable, and I did not wish to confess my real worries. He shouldn't know that his father's faith had been shaken, quivering like the ground during an earthquake. No, he had enough to occupy himself—I could only hope that if Rameses did not spare me, then he would spare Gershom. God willing.

_Better for him to believe my faith unshaken as a mountain, than for him to know I fear for my life. For _his_ life. Fear that God is wrong. _

It didn't take long for Gershom and me to arrive at the gateway into Thebes. Two guards stood flanking the gates, spears gripped at their sides. Their eyes bore into us as we tied up the camel and approached them. Their muscles stiffened, ready for action the moment they smelled trouble.

"Who are you?" the older guard demanded. "Where do you come from?"

_Take a deep breath, _I told myself, _just tell the truth. _

"The deserts in Sinai," I reported, "My son and I have come to the palace to meet with Pharaoh."

_Don't show your fear. God is with you, he really _is_ with you. Even if you don't believe…_

"And why do you wish to see him?" the younger interrogated. "You are not known to him."

_He doesn't know. _

"Intef, wait," the older guard said, squinting his eyes at me, "I think pharaoh knows the old man."

"Yes, he does," I confirmed.

"Moses!" the older cried, knuckles turning white on his spear, "Have you returned to destroy Egypt again? Were it that you were killed, we would be better off!" the guard dropped his spear, and gripped my robes in his hands, eyes blazing. "Go back to where you came from, or I shall run you through with my spear, so the gods help me!"

I struggled to get out of his grasp even as Gershom pulled on his arms.

"Let my father go!" he cried, "let us go in unto Pharaoh!"

The guard pulled me closer, so his nose almost touched mine, "Guess what, _slave_? I'll be the one to escort you—we don't want any more funny business!"

With that, he unclasped my robes, letting me go to pick up his spear.

"What makes you think pharaoh will be happy to see you?" the old guard ranted, "what makes you think we will like you any better? You might think twenty years is long enough for us to forget. You're wrong, slave!"

I stiffened, "don't you call us slaves. We are slaves no more."

The guard spat on my feet, his whole body shaking from rage.

"Who do you think will like you in this land?"

Gershom answered, before I could, "We have met his son, Khaemwaset, who holds no hatred toward us."

The old guard snorted, "That prince knows nothing! He wasn't born when the plagues happened! Intef! Stay here!"

The older man reached out with a hand and grabbed the back of my robes, his clutch unrelenting. I almost tripped over my feet as the guard half-dragged me along in the palace's direction.

"My first-born son died because of you and your Hebrew god!" the guard said, "Do you think I will forget that? Do you think Egypt will stop mourning her sons?"

Gershom hurried to stay at my side—never was I so glad that my son was so near. But he had to stay alive.

"Gershom," I addressed him, "don't say anything."

The guard stopped mid-step. "What are you saying, slave?"

"My father has a name, guard!" Gershom snapped, "He is Moses!"

The guard ignored him, his grasp even tighter on the robes around my neck. I squinted at the city—where was the palace?

"Son, you will not try to rescue your father," the guard warned, "I am a guard of Pharaoh's city, and have been so for forty years. Don't try."

Gershom set his jaw. "I will try."

With that, he lunged and twisted the spear out of the guard's grip, leaping out of arm's reach.

"Hey!" the guard shouted, unclutching my robes, "give me that!"

But my son danced out of reach, swinging the spear with deliberate force—I assume he wanted to knock the guard out, but he misaimed, hitting the man's shoulder instead. At once, both hands went up and pulled the spear out of my son's hands as though it weighed nothing. He hunched his shoulders, setting his own jaw, muscles bulging. The guard's face heated red from rage.

"ENOUGH!" he roared, slapping Gershom.

"Don't you strike my son!" I demanded, "If you wish to strike him, strike me instead!"

_No one will hurt my son! _

The guard sneered, "Willingly."

I felt my hands ball into fists, but the guard was quick. With one swoop, he gripped both my arms, standing behind me. He twisted them painfully up behind my back, forcing me to drop my staff. The guard jerked his head at Gershom.

"You boy will walk behind me as I take Moses to the palace. March!"

"I will refuse until you set father free," Gershom said, "and then I will come to the palace with you."

"No," the guard disagreed, "I will not set your father out of my clutches. I do not trust him—and nor will pharaoh!"

With that, the guard pressed his knuckles into my back, pushing me forward, Gershom following behind us. I kept my head down, concentrating only on the sand and trying to ignore the pain already radiating through my hands and wrists. The guard certainly had a tight grip, and already I could feel my blood-flow being cut off from my arms. I so wanted to talk to Gershom, to tell him that everything would turn out fine, but I couldn't, and not just because of the guard.

_If I try to soothe him, I will be lying, _I realised, _I will break one of my own commandments: thou shalt not lie. _

Swallowing back my fear, I allowed the guard to push me in the palace's direction. Gershom muttered against the guard as he followed us up the shining pathway leading to the statue-flanked entrance of the palace. The palace that once was home to me, before I discovered the truth. I kept my eyes ahead, ignoring my numbing arms, observing the restored statues on either side of the main entrance with its dozen columns.

_The same entrance where I collapsed in tears, _I remembered, _when Rameses told me to leave with my people. The dawn of freedom, and knowing he called me brother no more. _

I inhaled a breath. I didn't want to remember how alone I had felt in that moment when weeping for the first-borns and the loss of a childhood friend. Even my wife and siblings, though only a stone's throw in the village, had seemed to live on the other side of Egypt. Even _God_ had seemed to abandon…I shook myself out of these thoughts.

_Keep calm. Don't think about it._

I exhaled, surrendering myself to the memories of the plagues upon Egypt. Even the palace had been battered and bruised by hail, fire, and lightning. It was no use trying to suppress the events of twenty years ago.

_Dear God, I hope you know what will happen…_

_There will be hardships…_ His voice whispered in my head, _I have said this before, Moses, my servant. _

_I am afraid, God…_

_I know you are, but you must have faith. Do you trust me? _

I bit my lip—should I lie? If I fibbed, he would know. If I told the truth, he would have already known.

_I do not know, _I told him in my heart.

_Trust me, my servant! _God chastised, _Believe and have faith even now, even tomorrow! Even when your faith ebbs, believe in me. _

With that, his presence wafted out of my head and heart, leaving me light-headed from his rebuke.

"Here we are, Moses," the guard announced, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I blinked—I hadn't realised we had already entered the palace doors, and were even now making our way up toward the court. People mingled along the walls, laughing and chattering gaily with friends and family. Children chased each other around the adults, hiding and reappearing as they played their game; it was too hot for them outside. Servants offered flasks of wine and plates of food to guests and palace residents. Dancers arched and leapt over the court before pharaoh, their movements punctuated by the musicians' instruments and rhythmic clapping.

"This is Pharaoh's court?" Gershom asked, his voice full of wonder, "this is the palace?"

"In case you haven't noticed," the guard growled, "Pharaoh sits on his throne."

I looked—and certain as the sun rose in the east, there he was. Pharaoh Rameses. Lounging on his throne like he hadn't a care in the world. A woman stood next to his throne, her hand on his that lay on the armrest. His face remained in shadow, but even I could tell from here it was him. Seti would not catch himself dead slouching as Rameses did. Any moment, he would command all movement to cease—and with just one hand movement. It didn't matter if I had aged twenty years, perhaps beyond immediate recognition—my robes and staff would give away my identity in a blink.

Just as I expected, Pharaoh Rameses straightened in his throne and leaned forward, holding up a hand in a silent command.

_Stop. _

"He has seen us," the guard told us out of the corner of his mouth, "he will speak with you. I look forward to it."

"Guard!" Rameses called out, "who are these men you bring into my court?"

On hearing his voice, I froze mid-step, the guard colliding into me. I didn't want to move, knowing that any moment now, Rameses would command my life to be forfeited. He had already ordered my image to be removed—but curiously not from the temple to the Hebrew God—and so what would stop him from ordering my execution?

_Nothing._

"Hey!" the guard snapped at me, "move up!"

Gershom appeared at my side, his jaw set and hands clenched. I hoped he would not do anything too rash or reckless, especially in front of Pharaoh.

"Pharaoh," the guard now boomed, "I have caught this Hebrew and his son as they entered Thebes. They tell me they are from the deserts of Sinai."

Rameses leaned forward a little more, and now I could see that age had caught up with him as much as with me. I did not look straight at him; rather I looked at a spot just above his head. I saw him, but I did not make eye contact with the king.

"From the deserts of Sinai?" Rameses echoed, then frowned, anger deepening the lines on his face, "You!"

The guard sounded smug and triumphant. "Indeed, Your Majesty, it is Moses and his son."

In one swift movement, Rameses stood up, his hands clenching into fists.

"Why have you returned?" he demanded, "I have no slaves for you to liberate!"

"I know," I said, trying not to let my voice shake, "I do not come to liberate."

"Then for what?"

_To reunite as God said, but how could we? _

I gestured to Gershom, "My son, Gershom, had voiced an interest in seeing Egypt again. I had heard Egypt had been restored—"

"_No _thanks to you, Moses!"

A long silence, as I gathered my thoughts. I hung my head, regretful. "I accept all responsibility."

The pharaoh stalked down two of the steps. "_Now_ you accept responsibility? _Now_ you admit to your destruction of _Ma'at, _of the ancient traditions in the past? _Now_ you come back expecting me to be happy to see you? You expect _Egypt_ to welcome you back with open arms? As Pharaoh, I _speak_ on behalf of Egypt!"

A prickle behind my eyelids, "I know. I did not expect any forgiveness for what I had done. For what my God had done."

"Egypt will not forgive or forget you!" Rameses conceded, words trembling with rage, "It was you who took my first-born, and as Pharaoh I can easily—"

With sudden paternal feeling, I raised my head, looking him straight in the eyes. "No, do not take my son."

Rameses stopped in his tracks. "And why shouldn't I?"

I inhaled through my nose, the sharp smell of incense clearing my mind. "Because no father should outlive his children."

Rameses, hands balled into fists, marched right up to me. "You hypocrite," he almost whispered, "You say this, and yet you allowed my son to die."

I took an involuntary step back as I beheld the cold look in his eyes. "I know."

"Then why didn't you stop your god?" he almost hissed, "Why didn't you ask him to spare my son?"

Before I could begin to form an answer—what answer?—to that question, he continued.

"Your soul is damned to a second death, Moses, for your name is dashed from the land of Egypt."

"What about the temple?" Gershom asked.

Forgetting me for a moment, Rameses turned to look at him. "What are you talking about?"

Gershom squared his shoulders, straightening his back.

"My father and I visited a temple in Memphis—the temple to the Hebrew God with no name. There were images of father in there."

A flash of puzzlement crossed Rameses' face, before the hard look of a Pharaoh returned to his eyes.

"I have no answer to your question," Rameses said.

"We saw Prince Khaemwaset, who claimed to be your son, and he held no hatred to Moses."

"He wasn't alive when the Hebrew god destructed the land!" Rameses snapped, "Prince Khaemwaset trusts all!" Now he turned back to me, "What enticed you to come here to the palace?"

I didn't know how to answer his question—how could I? What other reason was there to come to the palace?

"I…I don't know," I said.

"Perhaps you had hoped that I would welcome you back?" Rameses guessed, voice harsh, "You know I could order your execution right now."

I heard Gershom gasp.

"I know," I said, "I am not innocent of what has happened."

Rameses drew himself to full height, his crown's uraeus catching the sunlight, its embedded eyes flashing brilliant white for a brief second.

"You are not welcome in the palace or in the land of Egypt," he proclaimed, "Your son is welcome in Egypt, for it wasn't he who destroyed people's lives, homes, and crops."

Despite knowing he clearly wasn't going to order my son executed, my heart still sank, shoulders sagging at his words. What a different welcome it was to the last time I had returned to Egypt! Then, he had welcomed me with open arms and a smile, and now…

_And now I am no longer his brother, _I thought, breath catching in my throat, _I am his enemy. The foe of Egypt. _

I knew—even when I had believed myself convinced he would be unwelcome—that deep down I had _wanted_ to be welcomed back. To be called "brother". To be proclaimed a "Prince of Egypt"—though I did not return to be a prince. Yet, I would've done anything for Rameses to welcome me again as his brother, to proclaim me as "our brother, Moses, the Prince of Egypt" as he had done before. To proclaim that all had been forgiven, and we would return on good terms. And yet, the full truth of his cold words did not stop the dagger of grief sinking deeper into my heart, twisting jagged wounds into my memories of my youth in Egypt.

_You knew it all along, _I told myself, _you should have gone back home once Gershom had seen Egypt! You were wrong to trust God so willingly, walking straight into a cold welcome!_

"You know it to be true, I can see it," Rameses continued, folding his arms over his chest, "And you still return here expecting a warm welcome."

I wanted to say something—anything—but no words sprang to my throat, ready to be spoken. If any had come, they would have been muffled by the lump swelling around my larynx.

"He returned wanting to show me Egypt," Gershom spoke up.

"Were you not satisfied by what you saw?" Rameses asked.

"No, I wanted to see the palace for myself."

"You've seen it now, son of Moses—but I will still speak with you."

"W-why?"

I had never heard Gershom stammer before; looking over at him, I saw his hands trembling badly. Sweat beaded on his forehead, born of fear.

"To tell me the full truth of why your father has returned to Egypt." Rameses glowered at me, "For now, Moses, you will stay out of this palace and remain with my guard outside until I am finished with your son."

"I…" my voice caught in my throat, "Gershom will speak the truth."

Rameses regarded me for a second, his eyes locking contact with mine. When he spoke, his words were surprisingly quiet, "I will not order your death, Moses, not until I know why you and Gershom returned to Egypt."

_Not executed, _I thought, but there was no relief, _not yet…_

"We told you already—" Gershom began, only to be cut off by Rameses' words.

"Be still! Pharaoh speaks!" he proclaimed, "Guard! Take the Hebrew Moses away from here, while I speak with his son!"

The guard gripped my shoulders and steered me around so I faced the doorway in the distance, instead of Rameses and the throne behind him. My shoulders wanted to sag with the weight of sorrow, my eyes wanted to weep, but I refused. I would hang my head, but not weep.

_I'm an old fool to think Rameses ready to forgive God and myself. _

My eyes couldn't hold back anymore as I was marched out into the heat of the sun, the guard's fingers digging into my shoulders as he made me stop just outside the entrance.

"One move, Hebrew, and you meet the might of my spear," the guard threatened.

When the guard turned, glowering into the horizon, I allowed one droplet of salt water to trace down my wrinkled cheek and slip into the whiskers of my grey beard.

_Where are you, God? What will happen to me? You said it would be to reunite—have you broken the commandment not to lie? Rameses will never welcome me in his or my lifetime. Did you know he would be so cold? Or did you think he would welcome me again? _

Did I trust God anymore?


	10. Chapter 10: Rameses

**Chapter Ten**

_Rameses _

In truth? I didn't know what to think of Moses' return. The old memories of brimstone and fire, and the death of the first-born throughout Egypt flashed in my head as soon as I knew who he was. The old remembrances—so filled with agony, fury, and grief—exploded before my mind, in such a vivid manner that all I could do was send him outside with the guard. I did not wish to kill him—I did not wish for his death at all—but the shock had been too much. Still, I remained suspicious—why had he come back?

_If it's not to free slaves, and not to bring another command from his God, then was it to see if I yet lived? _

I strode back to my throne, snatching up my crook, gripping it in both hands as I looked back at Gershom. Poor man looked in quite a state—pale and shaking with perspiration glittering on his forehead. I turned to the nearest servant.

"Fetch a cup of wine," I ordered, "and give it to the Hebrew's son."

"You…you don't need to…" the youngster said.

"You need something to relax," I insisted, "and a sip of wine will do it for you."

He eyed me sceptically, but accepted the wine from a servant. He stared at the goblet, as though he'd never seen one before.

"Drink it," I insisted, "It's not poisoned."

The goblet shook in his hand, but he nodded thanks anyway.

"So," I continued, as he took a cautious sip, "tell me your name, and of your family back in the desert."

"G…Gershom," he stammered, "I have a younger brother."

"So you're a first-born? No sisters?"

He shook his head. "No sisters."

"My mother, Tzipporah, remains at home," Gershom continued, "She is worried for myself and for father."

_As she might well be, considering I was after Hebrew blood last time we saw each other. Including…_

"Naturally," I agreed, "but I will tell you now—your father will _not_ be executed."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Why?"

_He was my brother, that's why. _

"Because you and your brother will not then lose a father, and your mother a husband."

He didn't have anything to say to that, but by the way colour had returned to his cheeks and the goblet had stopped slopping, his anxiety had seemed to have eased.

"Your Majesty, why am I alive?"

_No parent ever deserves to lose their child, and nor a brother his brother._

"You have done nothing wrong," I explained, "You are innocent of any wrongdoing, at least here in Egypt."

He exhaled a sigh of relief, but his expression remained neutral, as though cautious to reveal anything of what he truly felt. Seeing that he looked more relaxed and not as pale, I asked the question that I truly wanted answered.

"So Gershom, tell me the truth. Why had you and Moses come to Egypt?"

"We have said it before," Gershom explained, "For years, I have wanted to see Egypt—"

"Why?" I interrupted, "For all Moses had known, Egypt was in ruins."

"Yes, but then his God revealed that Egypt had been restored, and that you still lived. He…for twenty years…" Gershom paused, "…had believed you perished in the Red Sea with your soldiers."

_He had believed me dead and Egypt destroyed beyond measure._

After allowing the words to sink in, I said lightly, "It must have been a shock to hear I was still alive, and Egypt restored."

"I believe so," Gershom conceded, "And I believe this was what truly spurned him to come to Egypt. To see it again for himself, but also to show me his childhood hometown."

"Anything else?"

Gershom looked away, biting his lip. He raised his other hand to hold the goblet as well.

"The truth, Gershom. I have no slaves for him to liberate."

"You have said before." Gershom raised the goblet, draining the rest of the wine, handing it back to a waiting servant, "I would not be surprised if father had wanted to see you again."

_There. He said it. _

I leaned back, but did not allow myself to slouch, "And that is all?"

"Yes," Gershom said, his voice louder, "It is all the truth, believe me."

"I believe you," I said, "And how do you find Egypt?"

"I don't think it is the same as he remembered it," Gershom said as he accepted his refilled goblet from the servant, "He has told many stories to me of his time here. This place holds great nostalgia for him."

_And memories, _I added, _of his adopted family at the palace. _

"But…he has told me of how he had returned from Midian to confront you," Gershom continued before I could ask anything else, "I say he did it all wrong."

His voice rang out into the hall, threading into the listening crowds, who recoiled in surprise at his sudden show of confidence. Even I was taken aback, my very heart speechless. It took a moment to recover myself in the face of such a blunt statement about his own father.

"A bold claim, Gershom," I commented, "He did it _all_ wrong?"

"He was right to free us, the Hebrews, his God's people. But he did everything else wrong."

_Why does he tell me this? Is it to 'prove' he has not come to liberate? _

I had a feeling that whatever he wanted to say was not privy to the ears of the crowds. Standing up, I raised my arms to silence the multitude.

"Pharaoh wishes to take leave to speak with the Hebrew," I proclaimed, "The Prince Regent shall attend to you for now."

Out of the shadows stepped my only other living son—the other being Khaemwaset—ready to attend to the people. Isetnofret, my second Great Royal Wife after Nefertari died, stayed at his side to guide his words and actions.

"Gershom, follow me," I said.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere where no one can overhear us."

I led the youngster to the adjoining room where another throne sat. It was the same room where Pharaoh Seti had reprimanded me and Moses decades ago for destroying a temple during a chariot race. It was the same place where Moses had revealed he'd come only to free the Hebrews. I retained my crown and crook and flail, still the image of a Pharaoh. I settled down on the chair, back straight, and the crook and flail in my hands.

"Gershom, tell me why you believe your father was wrong."

His eyes moved to look at my crook and flail, his forehead creasing as though thinking.

"Is that it?" he asked.

"Is what it?"

His hand moved up, but thinking better of it, returned it to his side. "Is that the ring?"

I looked down, turning my hand to see the blue scarab ring—the same one I had given to Moses—then had it returned.

"Yes," I confirmed, "Why?"

Gershom straightened his back, his neutral expression slipping into something resembling annoyance.

"He was wrong to return your gift—I have a brother, and I know I would not be happy if he returned anything I had gifted to him."

_He is a bold young man to say such things about his father to a stranger as powerful as myself. _

"Did you tell him this?"

Gershom shook his head, "He had told me of other things, and I had tried to tell him how he could have done things differently."

There was no denying it—he had truly sparked my interest in what he had to say. It took a brave son to challenge his father, and especially if that father was someone such as Moses.

"Go on. Tell me all that he has told you on the journey."

Gershom explained how Moses had spoken of what had happened in Egypt twenty years ago, and how he had confronted me with the Hebrew God's command.

"I'd thought how I'd feel if my own brother returned after many years, only to admit he had returned for some other reason, and not to me," Gershom revealed, "I do not know how I would react, but I know this—I would be upset and angry."

_As was I. _

"A very accurate reaction," I agreed.

"I asked father if he had thought about the economy and who could be used instead of slaves," Gershom continued, his voice growing stronger—rather as Moses' did when he spoke for the Hebrews, "I suggested if he'd thought of the farmers during the inundation. Father has told me of the Nile River's yearly flooding."

_He thinks well, this one. Who did he get it from? _

"He had not the understanding of the cost of a workforce," Gershom continued, "Father was only a shepherd after all."

To my own surprise, I laughed out loud, though only a short burst of mirth.

"_Only a shepherd?_" I echoed, disbelieving, "He liberated over six hundred thousand Hebrews, and you tell me he's _only_ a shepherd?"

Gershom looked down at his feet, appearing abashed.

"I am the Morning and the Evening Star," I said, "and even as a proclaimed god on Earth, I will not deny he is a leader. I cannot say he is a mere shepherd. Carry on, Gershom."

With the same confident, unwavering voice, he continued his story, or at least of what he had been told by Moses. He stopped short when he finally reached the tenth plague.

"I…" he faltered, "I do not know what to say of this."

I eased my back on the back of the chair, "It was a terrible plague," I agreed, "not one I will forget soon."

Gershom inhaled deeply, "I don't know if I ought to tell you what I told him should have happened. I fear causing His Majesty offense."

"Say what you have to say, and I will decide whether to take offense."

Plainly not wanting to go on with his words, he continued, "I asked father of the necessity of it being all the first-born of Egypt. I asked him if Pharaoh—you—would have let his people go had only your first-born died."

_An innocent child would still die! But…would I have let the people go?_

"I even dared suggest that God should have—" he gasped, eyes wide as he stared up at me, "Your Majesty, I do not dare say. It will be treason."

"Treason?"

He shook his head, "I will not say, but father's response was the same nonetheless."

"What was it?"

Now Gershom's eyes took on a saddened expression, "Father said that he had felt he did not know his own brother anymore."

A stunned silence from me met his words.

_I would have said the same for Moses. _

"Your Majesty," Gershom addressed me, "Would…would you have let his people go had only your first-born died?"

_Would I? Would I have been so distracted by grief I would…yes. _

"I believe I would have," I confessed.

Gershom's face looked even sadder. "I remember back at home, every Passover—that is, when we remember the liberation of our people—when the festivities were near an end, father would always slip away. He confessed to me it was to pray for all those who had perished. Twenty years on, Pharaoh, and he still mourned."

_Twenty years…_

I took a deep breath. "The memories are still there for your father?"

"He grieved that night."

"What?"

"On the night of the death of the first-born. Father…" Gershom inhaled a shuddering breath, "Father told me…he had never wept as he had that night. Alone."

My grip loosened on my crook and flail, my mind reeling from what he had just said.

_He'd wept that same night, _I thought, _the same night I gathered my army to kill the Hebrews. All the Hebrews, including…including Moses. _

There. I had just admitted it to myself. I would have killed the man who regretted the plagues on Egypt. I would have killed the man I called brother—who still called _me_ brother.

_Gershom is sincere, but I must hear it from Moses himself. _

I stood up, straightening my posture. "Stay here, Gershom."

He stared back, looking worried, "Why?"

"I have heard enough from you," I said, wishing it didn't sound so blunt, "Now I must hear it from Moses."

"Are you going to speak to him here as well?"

"Yes," I confirmed, "Wait here. I will call in the guard to bring Moses to us."

* * *

Within swift time, the guard had brought in Moses, but I had told the guard to stay out. He protested, but no one disagrees with Pharaoh. He shot a look of pure hatred at Moses before slamming the doors shut like a child having a tantrum.

In the room, Gershom made swift steps to his father's side, an arm around his shoulders. It was clear that the father and son were close. Moses—now with grey hair and beard rather than brown—still clung onto his staff, yet I noticed he leaned on it slightly. His eyes locked with mine for mere seconds, before looking away, head bowed. Yet, even despite his being transformed by the last twenty years, I knew he was the same man who had destroyed Egypt, upset the balance of Ma'at and tradition—but was he truly regretful as Gershom hinted?

_Remember, _my thoughts warned, _this is the man who destroyed your homeland. _

Nevertheless, my initial rage—borne of what, shock? Memories?—had rapidly cooled in the face of Gershom's tales of the journey and what Moses had told him. If Gershom was right…then how could forgiveness be possible, even despite the death of my first-born son being partially Moses' fault?

"So Moses," I began, returning to the hard voice I had used when I first met him not an hour before, "Gershom has told me many things, especially of your journey here and what you have told him."

Moses grew very still, with his trembling staff the only moving part of him.

"Gershom has told me you gave him more questions than answers."

Moses lifted his head to look at me. "He has many, Pharaoh."

"I am sure he did," I remarked, "Gershom has struck me as an inquisitive young man."

I could tell with just a quick glance at Gershom that the youngster was trying to hold back a grin from the compliment.

"You haven't heard as many questions from him as I have," Moses said ruefully, his eyes moving to look at Gershom with the smallest of smiles.

"He has expressed that you could have gone about freeing the Hebrews another way," I informed, "I believe he has a point."

"I asked father, did he think of the economy and traditions?" Gershom blurted out before Moses could say anything, "The upholding of Ma'at, to keep a balance. How a whole nation wouldn't change its beliefs overnight."

Moses waved a hand at Gershom as though to stop him, "Gershom, let me talk…"

But the youngster went on, "How he had not considered the twenty-three years you'd thought him dead, and your father's words so many years ago."

Seti's long-ago words slapped my heart: _one weak link can break the chain of a mighty dynasty…_

"Gershom, please," Moses insisted, "I'll talk—I am the responsible one, not you."

"But father—"

"Enough. I know Ra—pharaoh."

_He almost said my name. _

"You are not known to him." Moses finished.

"He is now," I pointed out, "And I have spoken to him, and I will speak with you, Moses. Gershom has told me you slip away during the yearly remembrances of the plague of the first-born, and as a child, had not understood why you were so adamant for him not to see your face at those times."

Moses heaved a great sigh. "Because in the dark, he would not see."

Moses cut his sentence short, staring at his sandals. His other hand moved to grip the staff too.

"He wouldn't see?" I repeated.

Another long silence, before a shaky inhalation as Moses raised his eyes to meet mine.

"The loss of so many."

Gershom looked taken aback, staring at his father.

_Does Moses feel guilt for the past? _

"You mean the lives of innocent children?" I demanded, still playing the role of Pharaoh, "You speak of lives destroyed all by your God's hand!"

"I know," Moses stated.

"'I know' won't bring them back!" I snapped, feeling some of the old anger coming back. "It will not ease the horror from those who survived! It will not take away the mass graves. Walk out a door, and you see at least one. It will _never_ bring back my first-born whom died thanks to you."

Moses sighed, "I accept all responsibility."

_Just as he accepted all responsibility for getting me in trouble, _I recalled, _and then he would get me out of trouble…_

Not allowing my heart's truth to show, I leaned back on the chair, folding my arms.

"Oh, _now_ you do?" I demanded, "Took you long enough!"

"He didn't _want _to be your foe," Gershom supplied, "He only—"

"I've heard it before," I interrupted, "To free your people. Did you think you could walk out with them just like that?" I snapped my fingers. "Did you think of the economy?"

"It wasn't about the economy—" Moses began.

"Yes it was," I argued, unfolding my arms and standing up, "you did not understand—the traditions—maybe you forgot—what about Ma'at? The order of things!"

"I was not thinking at the time," Moses said, knuckles white as he gripped his staff.

"Damn right you weren't!"

"All I could think—"

"Did you care, Moses?" I demanded, conscious of the blue ring pressing into my finger, "Did you only return for your people?"

Moses fidgeted with his staff, "I did care."

"Only for the Hebrews! You didn't care I'd missed you—thought you dead—twenty-three years! You did not ask about father, nor mother, and nor of all that you had missed here in your absence! Only for the Hebrew slaves!"

Moses' shoulders sagged, head bowed as if in regret.

"Even your own son, Gershom, has admitted thoughts similar to mine!"

Moses' breathing sounded shuddery as he inhaled. "He is right to think so," Moses said, "I did not think," the Hebrew raised his head to gaze right at me, eyes steady, "I did not see that you were still raised on Seti's teaching, nor how it would be to think a brother dead twenty-three years only for him to brush it aside." Moses' voice cracked, and when he spoke again, his words were thick with unshed tears, "Because I had thought _you _dead the last twenty years."

Dead silence. Both Gershom and Moses now looked at me, the latter's eyes were misty with unshed tears. I half-wanted to drop my anger and give him a warm welcome right then, but held back. I had more questions for him. Though I maintained my impassive façade, the mask began to slip.

"Carry on, Moses."

Moses passed a hand over his eyes, his face haunted. "Every Passover—"

"I explained it to Pharaoh," Gershom added quickly.

"He has," I confirmed, "To celebrate your first-borns living while Egypt's died."

Moses looked at me, expression pleading, "Not to celebrate," he insisted in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, "but to mourn—I know I do."

Another silent moment. I studied Moses—he was leaning on his stick, hands in a loose hold. He seemed to be shaky, as though emotion roiled in his frame.

"Every year, I prayed for the lost souls, prayed they all rested in a safe haven," Moses raised a hand, pressing his palm under one eye as though to wipe away a tear, "I had prayed for the soul of…of the brother I thought I'd lost, even if I am no longer brother to him." A shaky breath, "I prayed his first-born was safe." Then, swiftly, his demeanour changed, a spark of fierceness in his eyes, "I'll have you know, Rameses, that when Gershom was born, I told God—my God—_no more_. If he should want my first-born, take me first." Moses stepped closer, his staff hitting the ground twice, "I would dare refuse His askance. As a father, I shudder to imagine outliving _either_ of my sons, not just Gershom."

No words came to me as I stood rooted to the spot during Moses' spiel. He took a moment to regain his composure.

_Does Moses understand what it is to lose a child? _

"You would go against your God's wishes?"

"_Yes. _I would—and without hesitation. When I look back now, I wish I…I should have…" Moses' words caught in his throat, "Like…"

"Like my son?" I asked, voice more quieter now than stern.

"Yes," he choked out, "_anyone_. We saved…none of…of the Egyptians. I too would be enraged if I were in your place." Moses looked at me, his face a picture of haunted memories, his eyes misty with tears that had not yet spilled, "How could you ever forgive me for it?"

The tiniest of lumps formed in my throat—I didn't need conviction to know Moses regretted what had happened to Egypt. Everything in his posture, expression, and voice spoke of deep regret and unfathomable grief—a sorrow twenty years old.

"I knew," Moses half-whispered, "as soon as you told me to leave that—there could be no forgiveness, ever, for what had been done."

As Moses raised a hand to his weeping eyes, Gershom placed a hand on his shoulder. A clatter on the floor—my crook and flail had slipped out of my slackened grasp. I didn't care.

_He regretted it, _I thought, _he regretted it all along, and I never knew. _

"Father told me he had never wept as he had before, in the palace courtyard," Gershom supplied, "on the same night the first-borns…passed away."

Moses raised his head, a shadow of surprise passing over his face as he saw I had walked closer to him and his son.

"Gershom speaks true," Moses conceded, "I believe it was for all whom lost someone. I don't believe in my heart I had felt more…_alone_ than in that moment."

"Your God was surely with you."

He shook his head, "I don't know, I truly do not know."

_If I'd known!_

"I could forgive you for wanting to kill us all—"

_Including Moses._

"but how could you forget it was _my _God who…" he sighed, and tried to smile, but there was no happiness behind it, "How could I ever be called 'brother' again?"

Those last words seemed to unlock something in him as he let go of his staff, and wept into his hands, trembling with his tears. As for myself, there was a curious prickling behind my eyelids.

_I can forgive him, _I told myself at last, _he truly regrets. He is still my brother. _

Stepping forward, I raised a hand—the one with the blue ring—placing it gently on his shoulder. There would be no more of this impassive pharaoh act. I would speak as his brother—for we had always been so.

"You believed I'd never forgive you, or call you brother again," I began, "'Forever' lasts twenty years, Moses."

Gershom seemed confused a second, before his eyes widened with understanding. I think Moses must have thought the same, as he turned confused eyes on me. Then—the dawn of realisation.

"You…you mean…" he choked.

I placed my other hand on his other shoulder, my voice much more gentle. I spoke now as his big brother, and not Pharaoh.

"You are not innocent of what has been," I warned, "but nor will I allow yours nor Gershom's death. I will still call you 'brother'."

Moses stared at me, and now I could see the tears that had dried on his cheeks.

"You do?" he choked out.

I managed a smile, "Always."

He looked like he wanted to return the smile, but instead stepped forward and embraced me tightly about the shoulders, like we had been brothers all along. As any brother would, I returned the embrace, knowing we were as true brothers once again, forgiven, though not forgotten. I had many questions—but the sorts of questions one asks to catch up with a long-lost friend or family member—but they would be asked later. I did not ordinarily allow myself to weep, but here, in front of Gershom, as I hugged my brother, I allowed a tear or two to leak from my eyes.

_Even a pharaoh will weep._

* * *

_**Well, here we are, at the end of the story! Thank you, however few or many, who read through the story and stayed with it to the end. **  
_

**END.**


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